Love is holding on



but love is letting go.

I'm trying.

an incomplete trilogy

It's been a month.
A month since the torrential wind
brought in rocks, hails, stones-

the world is sand, sand, sand
                                               ( and like anakin says, i hate sand, it gets everywhere. )

I hate it. the chalky feeling inside the mouth,
the bristle sensation against withered muscle,
the taut pull of pressure wrapped around the ruins of...

I hate this. the sparring wisp of air that struggles to get in,
the wisps of muscle moving with each passing-,
the tugging of each beat of life.

but I don't hate you.
I just hate the fact that you can't decide;
 trapping us in this land of waste of maybes-possibly-hopefully-

we could pick up where we left, and finish the bloody trilogy into a sequel all on its own.

it's been a month,
come back 

Dark Blue

Dark blue, dark blue, have you ever been alone in a crowded room?

and I can envision the swarming of people, the buzzing of dialogue and muted laughters; the hubbub of a room packed with people.

and yet, there is an emptiness, I cannot fill. no matter how many jokes, how many smiles, how many pokes generated.

It cannot be filled. tis a bermuda triangle of my very own.

It is, a bermuda triangle of my own making, taking, stealing, stripping me of everything I was, and am.

... and I let it.

Dark

It begins with a breath,

just a small breath of it down your neck, 

a wisp of it, creeping down past your skin,

swirls of it like smoke,

making way, swathering,

seeping into each crack and crevice

filling everywhere

like a blanket

covering, 

swaddling,

muffling everything, 

a cold warmth emanates,

and it's all you can do to breathe

to live and be smothered alive.

Water, wind and Dust

In a land far-
a few plane rides away-
you see

Eyes that are bleary,
dried yet watery,
strained.

Coarse and unrefined,
everywhere, in the air,
dust or...

you feel the taste of  it
under belly of a beast,
hoisted, pulled as...

small fingers had
 grasped,
      pulled,
         latched-

and you had not-

and you can feel the stirring begin again.

and it lies in wait.

It arrived without sound.

Now staring at you unblinkingly, where it stands,

silently perched at its nest,

 unfazed and still, as if it had been waiting all along.

Maybe, it had, and you’d never noticed,

until it had chose to cash in its debt.

Stealthily and without real warning,

the ledger is now dripping red, and you can hear, see, feel,

the effect.

and now, its eyes are glued and daring,

eyes you’ve met and eyes that you know,

for after all,

Death was no stranger to you at all.

Thinking of you.

I didn't mean to think of you-

It was just like any other of my nights lately. The sudden abrupt waking up, the squeeze of the head and a silent resignation to whatever this problem is. to whatever this symptom is. 

My nights are usually filled with aches and chills that shoot up through the bones. Of caged thoughts and monstrous anxiety prowling inside. Of silence and worries whirling in the recesses of my mind. Of memories and notions conjured only in the wee hours of night.

But tonight, I thought of you.

and a smile comes etching on my face. It's an infectious feeling. 'Cause it spreads through, starting - as cheesy as it sounds- from my heart to the tip of my toes and the edge of my mind. 

You. 

and if I close my eyes, right now. I can see you. Tilted face, rounded cheeks, overzealous smile, and I wonder how many of those attributes have I picked up? Of the cheeky grin and funny eyes, Of the infectious laugh that always seem to peek with every honest smile. 

How many pieces of you, had I assimilated into me?

and I know, it's a fraud, and I know, I'm a fraud. But, I swear you're the reason the kids find joy in my class. And I know you're going to look at me, and say No. But it's the truth. it is. I think of you, and it makes me carry on, with whatever over zealous energy inducing game there is. I think of you, peeking through the door gap, blinking rapidly, with eyes full to the brim with laughter. 

You, who inspire me. 

and I know you don't think you're worth anything to aspire/inspire to. but you do. There is no amount of words, even if I do try to express it, that can tell you, or show you this. I am inspired by you. in my darkest hours, when I am drawing in my last depleting cells of reserve, I think of you.

And I think of you, how you've been and what you're doing, all the way over there.

Miles separate us, right now. Distance that seems to cut us to the bone, chilling and unwavering in the separation. I wonder, as I'm typing this, whether you're cocooned in a nice blanket, and your head resting on a fluffy pillow. I wonder if, as you sleep, you still have the creases on your forehead, or if your jaw still opens slightly. I wonder if you still tap your fingers, or use more physical cues to express words and phrases that doesn't come easily to you.

I wonder, if you have changed as much as me.

So many things have been happening, so many revelations and events that seem to have taken shape on it's own. and with the too small window of communication, too little chances of catch-ups and the many array of responsibilities, I can't seem to tell you everything. 

I'm sorry.

These words just keep echoing in my head, and I can't help the grief, the longing, the need, that ricochets in my chest. No words, no smart twist of the alphabet, no use of simile, would be able to express the gnawing sensation I have, thinking of you. How at times, even in class, I think of you, and wish you were here. 

If you were here,

I'd tell you about the stars, that seem to twinkle more since I'm up at the wee hours of night. Of the little hidden alcove that I've made in my room. I'd tell you about what it feels to be in diverging pathways with my best friend, where we're swapping dreams and aspirations. Then, I'd tell you about my studies, about the kids who've won over my heart and this interesting group of people that I've found myself thrown in with for this life's journey.

and

I'd tell you, I miss you, and love you, in person. 

I hope you do too. 

A tale of caution for the broken of mind.

The brain is a confusing thing.

In one instance, there are clear set lines, sequence, and little to nothing process. Neural pathways that intercross, a slow zipping back and forth. A zip zap zip, dancing on the tightrope.

Sparks

f-

-all-

-ing.

And it hits a small hidden box, with a latch broken, placed so surely, so secretively in a small bush, precariously placed so close to the lines, just unnoticed and unseen. Rusty and worn out, handles that have seen to many days of being pried open. Sloppily written words of ‘caution’ scribbled over the front. Used and-

Inside-

Wires. Blue, red, green, black. An assortment of colours, crisscrossing, back and forth. Jumbled up, into a messy ball. Messy, worn, and frayed.

Tangled wires with exposed nerves.

Caution.

With sparks cascading down from the lines above, near hits of the worn out door, near misses to the exposed wire.

Until one day- something snaps, and the sparks fall at the right place, wrong time-

A mishap? An accident? Fate?

Or maybe just the probable time and place for it to happen.

And this time, sparks multiply, zipping in and out the tangled web, from -things forgotten, dusted, ignored:

Memories, broken and painful.

Thoughts, dark and sinister.

Shame, unforgiving and ever-present.

CAUTION

The mind is a confusing thing, especially one so broken and warped as mine.