Dreams and Desires

You're there again,

in a little corner, of sorts, where you used to hide.
a place where you could always run to and disappear,
an old place that by no means mean anything to you,
except that it's quiet and nobody's there and you can do whatever you want.

read, write, think.
whatever you want.

you haven't been there since..
well, it's been a while,

the same tables, the same chairs,
the same chip on the tile, the same marks on the same whiteboard
everything is the same as before...

this place preserved by time,

and you're there with your sling bag, and converse shoes, and your shirt and ripped jeans,
and it's like looking in a window of the past, as you paw through your bag,
as usual, reaching for a book.

when you hear it, a disturbance in the silent solace,
a shift in the air and in the quick skip of your heart-
you know.

you know, as you turn around and see
disheveled hair, skewed glasses,
smirk in tact.

you see him

you see his fingers stretched out for you
as his digits move forward and reaches for you
and in a short few seconds, your eyes meet his, and you can

feel him.

his hands cradling your face, and his thumb drawing circles on your cheek,
and it's all him

and you want to tell him, you want to speak to him, you want to hold him
but you can't.

cause this was before,
not now
this was then,
not now

'cause dreams are the epitome of our true heart's desire'

and he's always been yours-

and always will be.

How to Breathe

"Take a breath"

 it feels odd, as this air-like concoction seep down the trachea, and-

"hold it in for a while"

-I what? hold it, as in let it pilfer your lungs and what?-

"now slowly let it out"

-SLOWLY let it out, bit by bit, just breathe out slow-

oh. wow.

and suddenly- relief.

tension and stress, thoughts and insecurities dimmed down..

streams and neverending voices turn to a slow focused trickle..

and it's funny really, how out of all the exercises and meditation, it's this that reminds you how to breathe,

so you put it back into your mouth, and finally

breathe.

Allie to Shay: Letters Across The World

Open Words document, and stare at the blip onscreen.

Dear Shay, Shay, To my platonic soul mate

  Alright, I'll just start writing. Cause unlike some people, I do not find peace when I write, infact during the process of writing, especially when writing about feelings, I fumble and trip over words, like a traveller triapsing into the woods in the dark. -

Smirk.

- and I find it appropriate that I compared my feelings as dark woods, maybe a forbidden forest-esque situation to be honest, but yeah. so I will stumble, and I will get confused, but at the end of the day, writing in itself, the product will make me see the clearing. yes, you must get lost to only be found anyways. yes?-

You pause, and your fingers

tap, tap, tap.

so.

right. 

tap, tap, tap.

-how do I begin? Let me rewind a bit. See, do you remember when I emailed you about a certain situation ? About me and that habit of running and over thinking, and the fact that I've been running in a long winded loop, of dodging and sliding, and the difference between my need to escape and be alone with my need to avoid complicated commitments.

stop, flex fingers, crack neck.

After hours, (nearly days, I think) of meditating in the cave, wrestling with my inner thoughts, and mastering the basic means of survival. (Code for: I stared at the ceiling ontop of my bed/ sat down in the garage and looked at the lawn), I decided that this time, maybe this time, I'll just try. Maybe it's time for me to stop running around (the maze) avoiding things and actually try to figure out what the code means.

So I rooted myself and decided to go forward, and I boldly (code for slid it into the conversation while avoiding eye contact)  asked a friend (for the sake of this letter, we shall call this friend K) if I could infact go on a date with our mutual friend ( we shall call this one F), as he had asked me out.

side recap: F had been in an unreciprocated love trope for the past 2 years with K, and well, now he's over it (or so he says.).  And I want to believe him, cause well, I don't give up completely on people easily, do I ? -

scratch, scratch, scratch. You can practically feel the back of your neck flush in embarassment.

anyways, beside the point.

K said yes. She was even supportive and happy. 

 

sigh

but then, things got complicated. fast. 

I-

stop. deep breath.

-I lost a friend last week, Shay. 

pause. crack your fingers. breathe.

K (surprise, surprise) took it back. took her approval. after saying yes. and at first I sat by and just watched as she told F about her leaving him because she couldn't handle him moving on from his unreciprocated love for her, and the have her text me, that she was doing it for me.

for me, shay.

she was doing it for me.

stop. deep breath. all out. now.

The words swam. and my heart, it broke.

I felt like scum and lower than I ever felt,

 

cause even though, this could be classified as her being selfless, it felt, as if she was... demeaning me, she was doing it just for me, because she still has power over him, and that I have none.

as if he was property to be handed over, as if he was always going to be her's. and I'd still be her friend but she wouldn't be able to hang around us two as a unit.

(here, I'd like to state I reminded her, that this was one single date)

but it doesn't stop there.

The next day, we had lunch, (don't ask me why I agreed to it, I just did. cause I'm dumb at times,)  where she rambled and rambled about F leaving her, so she could leave him, happiness, people leaving her always, how I was inevitably going to leave her.

. Also, I asked her if she had feelings for F. if she actually finally reciprocated his feelings (day-late friend from Anberlin feels appropriate here). She denied it, and again repeated she wasn't able to see him move on, while she's still pining over her ex. that she can't even see the possibility on the horizon.

I cut her off here cause I couldn't handle it, and I reminded her it was one singular date. and that she was overreacting. we then parted ways, on a somber note. (though, mostly all her doing, cause I didn't say much, just listened)

then it's followed by a whammy. double whammy that night. she texts and says she is leaving. She left me, because she couldn't handle seeing F and me. never mind it is just one date.-

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Do not cry.

-Just like that, Shay. Just like that, she walks away, like I'm nothing. Like I haven't done anything for her. Like I haven't been there for her, withstood her less than positive aptitude, stood by and listened to her through countless rants, picked up the pieces when she kept falling apart.

Like I was nothing-

stop. You have to stop. Stop.

Breathe. You have to breathe now. yeah. that's better. that's better now.

so yeah. it's been a week, and I finally got around the fact, and yeah. I'm telling you here.

I miss you. I miss you so much. Missing you is like my lungs missing oxygen, like a drought missing rain, like a respite against an ongoing storm.

cause at the end of the day, as much as I run, you're my partner. When things are rough and I can't breathe, I run headlong to you and sometimes you join me in the running, and other times, you just let me rest my weary legs and my heavy heart.-

tissue. tissues. dab at your eyes. yes. that's it. You gotta stop it now.

Come back Shay, Come back, to this desolate place, this dried up water hole, this energy sucking black hole.

Come back for me.

okay. that's enough now. sign off.

Missing you, waiting for you

With Love,

 Allie.

Power

Water cascading down from the showerhead. The pitter patter of the droplets. Droplets making way past your drenched head down to your toes and into the drain.

It’s not enough..

You grasp the nozzle and the outpour increases, and the thuds sear onto the peeling wall and tiled floor.

It’s not enough..cause –

You turn a knob, and you can feel the change. Close your eyes, as you feel the staccato rhythm on your skull, and stand. Stand as the streams of water surrounds you, as it rakes down your body, as it slowly slithers away hiding the marks.

 words hold power.

The thought echoes in your head, barraging through barriers, racketeering a race through your brain.

And you clench your fists, and the fingernail bites into your skin, and you feel the blood rushing in your head. The mirrors are fogged and you can see your skin turn red.

Words hold power,

and you are powerless.

Why read?

When you read, you’re allowed a glimpse into another world. A world that may be similar to yours with only a few slight distortions, or maybe even a world that is completely different from yours. 

You’re transfixed at the whole new world that appears to you, and as you read it, you enter it.

You’re allowed this whole new backstage pass to the thoughts and actions of all these different characters. It allows you to disappear from this world, and nothing else matters.

Nothing matters.

Just the printed words in front of you. Just this whole new world that is in front of you.  Just, everything in that moment pivots on the string of words that comes after another.

Sometimes, though only in some books, something spectacular happens.

Sometimes it’s the character, Sometimes it’s the plot, and sometimes it’s both.

 Some books allow you into this whole new world that somehow seems familiar. It straddles the thin line of escapism and reality that lightly raps its knuckles on the Fourth wall, which itself enraptures and warps your consciousness and self being.

 It’s because you see a glimpse of yourself in this world.

Where you disappear to only appear, in the pages of a book.

And that…that is beautiful.

The Over-used Lamenting of A Prodigal Return

The title says it all, ladies and gentlemen.
So instead of filling this post up with laments and optimistic reminiscing of the good old days where I wrote on a monthly basis followed by a promise to fill in my time with my writing...

I will just use this blog as a means to just dump my thoughts and drabbles. Alrights. Thanks.

cause I do what I want.

A house is not a home

There is a house.

Its nights are filled with chilled silence. There are no whispers of joy or rambunctious humour. Not even a slight warmth of laughter and any light of happiness.

Instead it is filled, filled to the brim with discontent and discomfort. The only sounds are echoes, of timid footsteps and whispered secrets. On Edge and Constantly Vigilant.

It is not a home.

Pictures of smiles and laughters fill the house. They show adventures with goofballs; capturing the moments of carefree and fun.

These pictures are lies.

There is no family; there is a household.

Silence is the patriarch; unrelenting and unyielding.

Pain is the matriarch; erratic and constant

They push and shove, paying no heed

to rational. to thought. to consequence.

paying no heed 

to the three fleeting shadows passing cross the door frame

to the three pair of ears pressed to the floor

to the three pair of eyes dried and worn

 to the innocent youth with his dimming eyes

 to the timid giant with his chained up heart

 and never to the eldest, unwise and controlled

planning unrelently, of failures and retreats, of curveballs and detours, of pain and misfortune.

No, 

not a heed of thought to three children living in a house, and not a home.