The Fall

...and it's a weird feeling now,
 your face is nor your own and
tugging and stretching,

Pulling Taut The String

your body does things of its own accord
your stomach is fluttering, almost flittering here and there,
and your palms are itchy and flailing arms,

Increase Surface Area; reduce Pressure

malfunctioning-your heart clenches and plunges,
it twists and churns and you know,
cause when you close your eyes, and think,
your mind draws up a picture so easily
like, and you know-

automatic,

this is how you fall,

will fall, are falling, have fallen

in love.

Puddles and Cards

Cover cards, hold them in one hand.

Closed and far away from prying eyes.

Taking in the situation, worn out eyes overthinking every turn, angle, crook and cranny. She can’t help it. This is who she is. Wary and cautious.

Late night, cars and-

Sort the cards, try to figure out the best combination, the best fit. With the least loss.

But how can she, when her head’s a mess, filled with imbalanced equations and non-answers, with turnarounds and take-backs, with what ifs and whys. And she doesn’t know the best course of action.

“We’ll save that for later-”

Re-arrange the cards, try and look at all different possibilities, and narrow them into probabilities.

Too many unknown variables, too many details left blank, how can she decide?

Hesitant smile, green plaid, and-

Hold, wait. Think.

What, how, what, ho-

Stumbles, Puddles and- oh.

Wha-.

“Would you- like to go out with me?”

Yes. 

A shout into the Void

Marching for the beat of 5

The march starts before it’s time,

Marked not with the dinging of an alarm,

or the ticking of the clock’s arm.

No, instead it’s with the muffled patter of feet,

A stealthy scrimmage across your peripheral vision;

the first sign.

crossing past the lobby-

exit, load, unload, enter-

quick and swift, past glass doors, glass walls;

the second sign.

Shadows now march, emerging from transparent caves

Quietly queue-ing, passing through, without a sound,

The Third Sign

March 

One, Two, 

March 

Ready?

Three, Four, Five

March for the beat of 5.

The Internship

It's been a hectic few weeks,
and the days are beginning to blend,
becoming a slow unnerving pulse of routine.

After months of waiting and hunting for an internship, finally obtaining one felt like a miracle, really a reprieve from the dullness of doing nothing. However, after months of simply 'being', and suddenly thrown into a glass walled building, and given mountain of work?

Yeah. It took me a while. The first few days, I felt myself sapped of energy. I hated the glass walls, I hated the punch card, and other than that, I also hated the work. I hated everything about it.

but then, routine settled, and I started to find my footing. Slowly got leverage, and balanced.

I still hated the glass walls,
but I began to like my work.
I still hated the punch card,
but I began to find myself adjust to time.
I still hated the environment,
but I felt myself begin to understand why it was the way it was.

Simply put? Working in a private company had an equation. Money = Time.

The more time you spent working, meant more money coming in. The more work you get done in an alloted time, meant more money. So, if you did a lot of work in a lot of time, that would equate to a lot of money.

Or in this case, do as much as possible in 8 hrs a day, 6 days a week, and you get much more money than before.

Comparing this experience with my past internship experience with the government?

Well, that would be a whole winded post, that I'll divulge, next time.
For now, I have to type in a logbook, and post it on another website. Sorry dear blog of mine, I have another.

but my heart and mind belongs to this one.

Cheers,
The One Who Hates Changes; Qeel.

Everything Eventually Ends

this is life, you think.

and your hand itches,

and your ears squeemish,

as you hear a story unfold.

of a tale, of two best-friends

torn-apart, distant and colliding

with one another, breaking bonds

and fraying all olive branches,

all beyond any sort of repair

"I can't take this anymore, I have to leave."

and you hear an uproar in your mind as it races,

and squirms as you push for an answer, a solution

you just need to think of something smart, something fast,

some sort of miracle cure, that will fix this gap.

You open your mouth wish to say:

"Let me try to fix this. You both-"

Instead you say: 

"Okay."

A jumbled up wire

I hate this. 

This being my inability to communicate or handle my inner turmoil. I wish I could pile it up according to the severity of feelings, find the root cause and categorize, dismantle, and cleanly solve it. To precisely understand how I am and what I feel.

It's moment like these that I clean and re-organize my closet/kitchen/toilets/bedroom.

except, I've done it, a lot, that it's lost the numb feeling.

so... I've resorted to this. I know usually I write and absolve the feelings, like when the problems are big. but lately, I've been personally adamant in not facing this. like just focus on my destination. Put autopilot on, and just drive. signal. brake. drive. 

Life, as usual though, had other plans. It's created this complex traffic pile up, with all these surprise road signs and broken traffic lights.and now, my car's at a full stop, and I have to pay attention. 

It's a lot like having a wounded up jumbled piece of wire looped around itself that you have to untangle or you can't breathe. and right now, well, I feel like I can't breathe. and I'm suffocating.  

Like dominos are falling down a piece at a time, and the last tile is going to make the very foundation of my fragile sanity give way.

It's actually funny really, writing this right now, I can feel my stomach gnawing and my brain race.

the most prominent are sadness and regret.

Both of them are tangled and twisted around one another, I can't even tell where one begins or where the other ends. It's seeped into every single happy file I have, tinged it with outlines and squiggles. 

They're both persistent and arguably could be said the most redundant theme of my life. Adding weight to my ever growing load, and my back is starting to ache. It's a burdensome weight, but it is what it is. The truth is:

I'm stuck. in the sea of squiggles.

 here. at home, in this shell of a country.

 Always here. never there.