Muse

169.

My heart is breaking and I’m caught in a questioning with answers I don’t know how to side. Is it tearing apart because of too much, or too little? Is there a third option to admit that it’s both at once, and so this organ is no longer able to play its original tune.

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160.

Is it preposterous that I am in want to protect you?

More so when it is only recent that I have come to know you. Somehow, slowly through moments miniscule, you have become unexpectedly dear to me. From the impulsive lending of the cap to asking if I’m doing okay, there are various sides to your easily won smile. The little things you do, showing that you care. Leaning forward, running to offer aid.

Came to me in the night you did, and I am grateful. Showing me a shadow that might cause alarm and distress, but it only made me want to hold you closer. Give me time, let me gather much armour, sword and shield to keep these disturbances away. Bring with us a light that never ends.

Sitting by the table just there, I cannot help but to watch you. Note the seldom serious look and the handsome haircut. Your hands, they relax on the surface before the next conversation gets them into expressive gestures. Quietly laugh.

Yes, perhaps it is preposterous to yearn protecting you. Though you stand tall and seemingly immovable, this is what you have done. Have me drawing one step closer.

139.

Talk to me about your monster. Does it like to come out to play at night, or claw into your back when you’re not looking? Some monsters, they know how to smile.

Not everyone learns to stop looking for the monster under their bed. I promise not to laugh, if you are one of them. Some will live in the crevices of our souls for always. Face the mirror, who do you see.

Monsters. Why do I keep going on about them? I do, for they are tangible creatures that lurk in the cracks of one’s mind. Here’s a read that realises that.

Patrick Ness’ A Monster Calls is a read that has the ability to speak to the child in each of us. This I promise. It appears as a fancy children’s book, a piece of fiction inspired by Siobhan Dowd, but no. It is much more.

Depending on one’s definition, it can be considered as a horror story as reality has its many terrifying revelations. A monster in the night, a particular yew tree, uproots itself and meets Conor O’Malley. Initially frightened, he calms down upon recognising that it is not the same monster in his dreams.

This monster, the one that came walking at 12:07 will tell important stories, ones that will reveal the truth within the boy’s heart. Completed with beautiful illustrations, it is a written work that will take your heart away. It takes mine, a total surrender. I cannot say more lest I ruin it for the rest of you.

Talk to me about your monster. How tall does it stand, does it have wings or does it look like you and me. By the end of this read, you might want a monster to come calling for you.

137.

You remind me of the ocean.

Always ready, quick on your feet, scurrying up the way waves dabble with the beach sand. Deep in thoughts, abundant in your affection, beauty in the glistening light of the sun.

You remind me of the ocean.

Turning cold and somber, sporadically tempestuous. Muted expression, currents unruly, creatures of the moon stalking this salted space.

You remind me of the ocean.

It’s you I’m hopelessly fascinated of.

133.

My favourite memory might not even exist in your head.

A smile small and nearly impudent, the peculiar pinch of eyes while thinking deeply.

Slow gentle clap of hands when things go well.

Tremor of the ground turning into courageous steps.

This yell, childlike brimming delight, when it comes to the matters you care best.

I wonder, I truly wonder if we can ever know all of ourselves, if we are fragmented stardust particles gleaming in lives other than our own.

So maybe I am your mirror just as you are mine.

And oh, how I desire that you will continue to shine a brilliant bright.

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.