Muse

128.

I don’t need a love so adventurous, daring and impossibly cunning, thoughts of prince charmings or valiant foes.

All I would be in want for is a love so gentle, so subtle, like the faint touch of the elbow to show hey, I’m here to support you,

And I’m certain that kind of simplicity will do.

Advertisements

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.

121.

Rewriting an old piece that holds a portion of myself.

Best friends, pursuers of the world hidden within words. She speaks often, but he remains imprisoned in the mind despite superior comprehension. In the quiet reads, there is a feeling to strive for.

There he is, leaning against the large tree trunk, balanced on a branch with a burgundy tome in his possession. The consumption of knowledge undeterred until sight is obscured by pesky hands.

Articulate her name with a notable scowl, earning a laugh from the brunette, bearer of a diminutive smile that he adored best. Hello, she utters, and while he has every intention to shake his head at the impertinence, it does not come to pass as a gentle notion flutters across his complex mind.

She acquired a fear of scaling trees after an incident involving the death of a featherless baby bird. It tumbled out of its twig nest. Accusing herself a murderer, the pain and guilt that beset the heart. This fear he prayed against, that its tendrils would no longer need to tangle with her conscience, that he would be one quelling these possibilities. That they would have to creep past him to get to her.

The silly idea that hums at the back of his mind.

The fact that the brunette scales the tree would mean two things: that she is prepared to overcome her fears, and that she is in want of his company despite adversity. Incredibly heartwarming. Congratulations, he says tersely, before returning to his read. Dissatisfied by his choice, she pesters him with childish methods before imbalance overtakes.

Eyes wide, arm outstretched to catch the falling, astonishment flitting past chocolate eyes, the strange lightness of being before crashing. The throbbing that slowly receded, even she notes the magnificent cerulean sky. Turn to the side, lips that curl.

Best friend, she mildly teased. Didn’t you promise me that you’ll catch me when I fall?

Auburn eyes that crinkle. The voice that stirs wizened leaves.

I already have, are the words he softly whisper as he raises their interlocked fingers before her very own eyes.

And had she not known any better, it is surely in that moment that her heart would have swayed.

115.

I’m fascinated by a ghost.

Real as real can be. Even so, sometimes I catch myself wondering if he exists. Poetic musings and untimely vanishings, ethereal like the place he once dwelt.

Why do I think of him, despite unreliable appearances?

Perhaps it’s the utterance of I love you on the first meet, when we were hardly acquainted. Even he found himself taken aback, as though it was something strange and uncalled for. In the context of a card game, a deck shifted over and yours truly took the leave for the night.

Remember even more the impromptu lunch together, when I ran up to him to say hey. Mildly shy, with a smile almost and not quite, partake a meal together we did. The crumbs of a cake that fell.

While our intentions to meet again never materialised, I know the best gift bestowed. My ghost, he writes a birthday wish detailed and sweet. As one who became synonymous to air, his hand reaching out through this digital space is nothing to dismiss.

Ghostly friend of mine. Where you go, be the thoughtful being you are.

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.

104.

You see in me more worth than the measuring cup I take to myself.

Where I see useless stones, Your loving eyes tell me that there are hidden diamonds quietly being unearthed, each with their own time.

Shaky unfinished form that I am, I will step deeper into this faith knowing that it is one that causes even the unturned rocks to cry out in praise.