Life

129.

Why do people speak in the midst of a breaking?

Waiting for the boom of fireworks, the roar of a thunderclap

By the bedside of possible death, a wave of congratulations

 

Maybe this is it:

That humans have a softness for honesty

To see truth leave one’s trembling lips

To speak the unsayable because that makes it so incredible

 

Yet we fear consequence:

The rejection, the disgust, the ardent whispers turned into despicable shouting

 

We forget that consequence can also have a wellspring of affection:

The leaning of heads, an iron-grip hug, the removing of a dried leaf from one’s hair

 

We are animated dust kicking up a storm

Leaving sunshine and rain wherever we go

Footprints in the sand eventually swallowed by the mighty ocean

In spite of it all we aspire to be more than just this

 

We climb mountains, we search for new horizons

Finding for a place or someone reminding us to simply be

A map lost, and no place to return to

 

Yet one day, there will be a time when you will watch the sunrise reflected in their quiet eyes

Sleepy yawns gently tugging at the consciousness before a dangerous falling in

And when they ask why you have kept your eyes on them this is what you will say:

 

Once upon a time when no one knew

You defied the odds and became the neglected miracle in the dark

In a world filled with incalculable possibilities we are both here

I thank my God a thousand times for this incomparable moment

 

Blush they will, or turn away

Yet the sly sneak peek will show your shadow melting into theirs

This confession coming clear in spite of your speaking in the midst of a seashore breaking

 

Pick up a seashell, more than one

Build small emblems of devotion with driftwood and hard stones

Let them know, let them know, that even as you are playfully carving names in the ground

That their diminutive smile is a compass, mirthful laughter its tracks

A sign that there might be a home to go to

 

There is so much in a glance

Even as it lies wide open or a furtive sneak

There is so much more

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127.

If memory is flexible, this is what it should remember:

 

The cold frigid air of midnight

Lightning broken and thundering drum

Cosy steamboat and unrestrained laughs

Shot in the dark, silver tail of the sky.

 

Not only these, but

 

Conversations leading to undiscovered roads

Upturned shoes of sleepiness

Eternal rounds of strawberries

Strangers then, now siblings in Christ.

 

Dear memory, please don’t become undone.

125.

IMG_4859

A mental health awareness project much loved by yours truly, sufficient to include it on this paperless space.

Notice the circle, the perpetuation of repetition, madness and insanity, a downward spiral into unending ideas that would not satisfy.

In this city, its life thrives on prejudiced mentalities.

Crumple the list, a useless try at finding reason within these scattered words.

We and me, a constant battle of wills, the other invisible people in the mind are just as real.

Sea of hands clambering for control of the main body.

The crosshatched thought cloud, a small voice hoping for a heart that would love despite odds.

Yet words hurt like a knife and so, wilt from the inside.

The gun explodes against his head.

Strings desperate, give me a lead to reach the person who has gone.

It’s time to take off the rose-coloured glasses, won’t you open your eyes.

This origami crane I fold, a thousand I would to make a wish for you.

A collage made to gather voices, to speak up for mental illnesses as tangible.

124.

Am I allowed to be shaken by sorrow?

Is there a set time to feel as though the sun will never shine as bright again, yet to know deeply that it is a doltish lie? Speak to the moon and stars, realise the distance between that will not close.

For how long am I to miss a stranger, one who will remain forever twenty. This one, the one who crept into my mind and this is where you will stay. As you are not unwelcomed I no longer know where to stand in this room. Hours in this place alone.

They say that hearing the name is important, and this I believe. Turn to the direction of this melody. Mere monosyllable to paint a smiling pain, avert sight to the tarmac spilled across the dim walkway. Shapes that change in the night.

I am grieving from within, and while it hurts to know the many more steps I’ll take compared to he, I will look still to the boy who left a mark.

120.

Ways introverts display affection:

  • Watching the glimmer in your eyes
  • Listening endlessly
  • Mouthing words across the crowded room
  • The phone call
  • Initiating touch
  • Tracing letters into your palm
  • Lengthy messages
  • Going to that party with you
  • Shadows walking side by side
  • Interacting on low social battery
  • Sharing incredibly personal thoughts
  • Remembering you

(and how many more shall introverts count in their unchanging ways)

116.

A personal book review written for a book loved much.

Tell me if you have ever thought of that one stranger, or many more. Remembered the curve of their smile or the flecks of light in their eyes.

I have, and I know what it means to lie awake wondering where they have gone, and if they are still here.

Even as a child growing up, stories unspoken in people unmet fascinated me. Though crowds are not my fancy, and fears of being closed in fluctuate without warning, the idea of knowing people deeply remained an irresistible attraction.

Without uttering hello, I have already been given a thousand goodbyes.

Meet my read, Jon McGregor’s If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things, an author who has done me no favour by augmenting my strange affection for nameless individuals. (more…)

111.

You step out in my attentive suit

Pillows, pills and bills block your way

I find tear-stained sheets

Who were you at 3AM?

 

There you go in the evenfall

Lined artwork bleeding

Kitchen glass breaking

Bright eyes seeking

The sound of a throat constricting

Suspire and oxygen melting

Someone who is no longer here.

 

Many people do you meet:

The boy keeping a stash

The girl laughing too hard

The man feeding his meal to the cat

The woman sharpening the knife

In the library, the bridge under, the computer screen

Each knowing the smiles meant goodbye.