Muse

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.

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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.

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.

92.

I am caught up thinking about the future, though it is not something I do often. I do not see it as a feasible thing to do, to muse on multiple unknowns, and the way a possible moment ahead wilts simply because I had forgotten to water the seed once sown is frightening to consider.

Yet I am thinking of all of the people I have yet to meet, and might still. Who knows what stories will fill these blank pages, and will the ink bleed dry too early?

I wonder how are all of you. How do I speak and give attention to each without sounding lost or despicably biased? I do not know how, but I will try and try, over and over.

Are you lonely and hurting, whoever you are, having to hold your own mind to keep it altogether.

Are you happy and filled, perhaps after a meal satisfying and sweet, almost tripping over a piece of broken glass by the bin.

Are you angry and desperate, at the world that will not move the mountains to reach.

Are you sleepy and tired, a face on the other side of the world, a tinsel of stars outside the bedroom window.

Are you nervous and tingly, set for a path mysterious, one that may lead you to me.

I know how life can take a turn for the unexpected, for I will be changed for always due to my 2017. Maybe it is both thrilling and fearsome, the way I may continue to face more twists and strains. Maybe my spirit will find itself bending under the weight of these journeys.

Where am I going?

I may ask this from time to time, say it to the ocean whose stunning roars will drown my shallow doubts. I still do not know, but I will hold on to the broken seashell gifted to me in a land far away, where its cool waves have once capered among my feet.

89.

I continue to look at the road after things are long gone, and this is how I meet you.

A child, that’s what I should have been, but I was one attending secondary school. People see you in places alone but in my case, dreams led me to you.

Did we say hello at first glance? This I cannot recall, but I knew from the very start that you were different. Your manner and the way you speak, you cannot be from this place.

We might have met at other places, but the park is the venue I remember best. We would sit on the bench and talk. You had a way of loosening my tongue, despite my reticent nature. Your voice, it was a low hum, calm and strange. It follows me even after I wake.

And then, you vanished.

Or maybe, I did the vanishing after all.

I am angry, incredibly angry, at my failing memory. Desperate for a clue, often trying to understand how our communication broke. When did I lose my way? They say that people of your kind disappear with age and time, when the need for a companion no longer exists but how dare you, how dare you share so many moments and carelessly disappear afterwards?

You were a phantom and I thought of you everyday.

Are you still waiting at the park? Because I no longer know how to get there.

In the darkness, I still see you.

Though your soothing voice is slowly leaving and your wise smile fading, you remain undeniably special to me.