Motivation

110.

Hush now, they say, I see someone in the store. Oh, it’s just a mannequin left unattended. Who cares, we’ll just put her back into the closet where she belongs. Wait, woah! Why is she lashing out? Perhaps she is a robot instead of a mannequin, but they’re all the same.

Women are walking catalogues, don’t feel personally harassed if eyes are watching every moment. If you are wearing white, you’re challenging the rain to make it translucent. Don’t wear skirts that are too short, you know people are waiting for that gust of wind to blow a little too strong. Walk in an alleyway if you dare, pray for it to be empty or else be prepared to be drugged. Girl, don’t be too friendly at the party or you’re flirting with trouble.

When people pinch your bra strap or steal your hair ties, let them get away. It’s a small matter, and as they always say, boys will be boys. Boys tease the girls they like. Feel the sting on the cheek and whisper that it’s okay, sometimes people get mad. The partner always buy roses the next day. Kiss and make up, no?

Keep your mouth shut, it’s not proper for a lady to speak unless they are spoken to. Did I ask you, asks an authority figure angrily. I don’t think, perhaps you will begin to say, but the Mad Hatter says, if you don’t think, then you shouldn’t talk at all.

Pretty one, you should remain a flower on the wall. Walls can’t talk.

You play with gold glitter as a child, scrapbooks messy but grow up with pepper spray simply for wanting to go out alone to watch the midnight dance of a thousand stars. Sometimes it’s beside your pillow as you sleep, for even home is not the safe place you hoped for. Picked locks and rummaged belongings, does privacy even exist anymore. They say that being in a crowd will keep you from harm’s way, such as family reunions and shopping malls. But can you say no to that older relative who insists that you sit on their knee? There are hands that brush too close.

Yet, this is the cry of the lighthouse: (more…)

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108.

For this long I’ve been alive, strength sufficient to indent these thoughts in a space semi-tangible. What else can I say but thank you, despite receiving servings both beautiful and ugly, brutally honest and honeyed double.

Moments are all I am, and my memory, no matter how decidedly powerful, cannot serve as an anchor in life’s unpredictable tides. Yet I am aware of the compass from above who leads me on even into unchartered waters. The crown of stars I await in my waking dreams glisten charmingly.

This I know in the voyage: to try and try, to write and write, to love and love even more.

99.

So much power in the act of writing, or so I choose to place my faith in. I have written letters for people with no faces and no names, crafting pieces for an unknown recipient. I do not think that I am foolish for trying something unreturned, for who knows if in these secret doings will someone find reason to hope again?

Leave a scattering on the car window, pages of old, table worn and other possible places. Run like the wind, don’t get caught or the magic spell may find itself undone.

In my timid heart I do fear that I may be playing with fire, but I will continue building and see if there is more than this fragile house of cards.

93.

This is a love letter, and it was written for you.

Do not scoff or find it a gimmick, for love is indisputably one of the strongest forces in the universe, if not the most.

Just because there are no names and no descriptions of your face or physique, it does not mean that it is not relevant at all.

If the idea and existence of love in your life is a void now, then take heart.

This piece transcends both space and time, a traveller from the future.

It comes from a place of love deeper than the entire ocean.

Builder, healer, selfless, patiently enduring and gracious.

So many loves, all with their quiet power.

This is a love letter, and it was written for you.

91.

She dreamt of a stranger, his fractional smile a mere flicker before he disappeared over the building’s edge.

This wakes her up, filling her with irrational tension. A haunting peculiar for it is a place never seen before, with a faint touch of the ethereal.

Who are you, she quietly asks with an arm outstretched, but her words are simply mixing with oxygen.

Weeks go by, and it remains a sequence that slips in uninvited from time to time. The same wakefulness will capture her utmost attention, but there is no clue. Until one day, in the most ordinary of ways, she sees him in a street full of people. And mad is she, certainly, to have glimpsed a cordial curl of the mouth?

His gaze averts, and she pursues. Though foolish to endure without reason, she will not be deterred. They arrive on the rooftop, a scene startling alike. His foot leaning by the end of all that is.

She walks slowly, terribly afraid to see that moment. When she is but two steps away, his voice breaks.

Do you trust me? are the words uttered.

Take a deep breath. Nod of the head.

Close your eyes, he murmurs with a faint smile, and she does.

Hands curve themselves and then, the lightness of being. A scream. They are falling into gravity’s coarse arms. There is no comfort in the aforementioned thought.

He whispers against her ear, believe.

And believe, believe in facing the unknown courageously and this is when they fly upwards by the spread of his wings. Her eyes widen.

You’ve always been too afraid to face the end of your dream, he says with a gentle smile. And now you finally know.

73.

Bewildered by beauty, I gave broken pieces and You built me a palace of glass.

You remind me of my inheritance, that the shine of the heirloom on my head is a symbol of Your interminable love.

Lift your eyes, my child, are the words You gently whisper, for often I forget to stop staring at my damaged feet and instead to sight endless glory.

What else can I do, but to always try my best to grasp the depth of Your faultless love?

64.

He is found in the midst of chaos and split silver. Cracked mirrors and loose shrapnel.

I can’t take it anymore, he mumbles brokenly.

Do you know, do you truly know what it’s like to be unseen? Alone in a crowd, or to face a reflection that will not see you in the eyes?

I am in a mental museum, full of the dead and the past, and I’m here beyond opening hours, trapped in a space that won’t let me go. Even if there are others here, they exist past the velvet rope that I cannot cross.

And in spite of it all, I am the joke, for I find myself like air — I’m afraid that I may disappear if someone does touch me.

If no one thinks of you at all, he painfully asks, do you truly exist?

The shadows breathe across the ruined floor.

People don’t remember the moon until it hides behind the clouds, she whispers softly. But I’ll have you know, that I always have been looking for the moon. You do to me what the moon does to the tide;

You draw me in.

(And even on days when I don’t see you, I know you’re there.)

28.

Charming things my fiction have said. I’ve decided to give them alternating styles to make it easier for the eyes.

Has she, then, been a constant stranger I’ve been completely unaware of? Then maybe some strangers never quite leave you, and why – I will be sufficient in intrepidity to mention that she should never go.

Don’t leave. Don’t go just when I’m about to find my feet to find you.

I don’t think we can ever point out a reason why we are in that state toward someone, in this prominent attraction. I believe it’s just as simple as this.

It will happen one day, one normal day whilst you are looking at him or her, and realise that you can’t let them go just as they are, just as you are. And that revelation will never leave you the same person again.

I won’t deny you being a catch, but I will not have you as a prize. I want you to win, and so if you are willing, please do.

This game has already been rigged from the start.

You are the face in the crowd that I cannot forget.

Is this how he speaks I love you? Biting another mouthful of cotton candy, I chew properly as I watch him quietly. And I can guarantee that the joy of his heart reaches his eyes, pulling his lips into a full grin. The subtle amount of colouring on his cheeks makes him all the more appealing to me.

So much that I have to turn the other way.

Our lives have collided into one pathway, and I’ll never be the same again.

I don’t want to hurt her with my actions. I have asked for the reason behind such tears before, but a poor smile was all I ever got. So after five until six in the evening is the time in which I would spend my time with her quietly.

Sometimes I would be rearranging the books. Sweeping the floor. Discreetly pass her a piece of tissue. Write her the weirdest poems. Try to make light conversations. Get her a drink. Compliment her shoes. Say some jokes. I sound like I’m in love.

Just don’t let the people who don’t deserve your trust be the reason why you fear trusting. Like I said before, I meant every word. And definitely, every ‘I love you’. I repeat so that you won’t forget.

This connection exists because we’re the same. Somehow, we both want to belong. And so, we exist on the same emotional plane.

Of course I remembered you. I thought of you every day. How you were. Your likes and dislikes. I’m sorry for never telling anyone about you. Because I didn’t want to.

… You’re special.

What a sentimental night, seeing these passages crop up, making the present me wonder how I came to write these things.

This mind will keep writing.