Far away.

Maybe we're never coming back.

-

What can be done;
To take,
from whatever that is left
So you will be able to see.
To let you
in the only way I know how.
.

I'm sorry.

People have scars. In all sorts of unexpected places. Like secret roadmaps of their personal histories. Diagrams of all their old wounds. Most of our wounds heal, leaving nothing behind but a scar. But some of them don't. Some wounds we carry with us everywhere and though the cut's long gone, the pain still lingers.

This is for you. I tried, but in the wrong way.
Regardless of whatever, you matter. In the right way this time.

For once,

I'm not running anymore.



I wished I had used my time to know you.

If it's such a bother,

Sometimes, the people who matter the most are the ones who don't bother. On the contrary, those who dwell backstage, the ones behind the scenes; they are the people who come right out of their way to know you. They surprise you.

We always look at things on the surface. We take people at face value. We put so much attention on the ones on-screen, we neglect the people who are behind the curtains. The ones whom we forget take their bows at the back. Sometimes all they need to remind them that we do care is a gentle touch, a reassuring word, a casual greeting, a small response. A 'yes, please', a 'no, thank you'.

Small things.

They do not require us to put them on pedestals. They do not pressure for special treatment. They are the ones who prefer to stay on the same level with us, so they can take a walk in our shoes, try and understand how we feel and take effort into giving us their replies. These people, we should learn to treasure.




don't bother.

Wake up.

Reality. It's so much more interesting than living happily ever after.

-
It feels weird.
Silence, can be deafening.

What's worse,

new wounds which are so horribly painful or old wounds that should've healed years ago and never did?

Maybe our old wounds teach us something. They remind us where we've been and what we've overcome. They teach us lessons about what to avoid in the future. That's what we like to think. But that's not the way it is, is it? Some things we just have to learn over and over and over again.

-
I dislike looking to talk. It makes me feel needy. A different kind of needy. I don't like needy, of any sort. I used to be. I may still be. But I don't want to be.

I want to know why it always encompasses us. Why we feel the need to share, why we feel the need to be heard, why we feel like we can't hold it in, other than for purely superficial reasons. And as for hiding behind superficial dresses, yes, that is how I am. How I've always been. But that doesn't make me wrong. The truth is, we never really know which is the dress we really want. We think we do, but we don't. Dresses do not necessarily make us happy. Sometimes all we want may be just... a pair of leggings. A scarf. Not a damn dress.

Dresses are highly overrated.

Driveway.

I think it was the damned song.
Her eyes, her earnestness.
"Dr. Grey."

"They think that you're taking advantage of me and they think that I'm using you.

But they don't know us.

They think that we're ugly but I know that we're beautiful. And we can adapt to a hostile environment."
Up at the ceiling, where we come from.

Stand By Me.

Forlorn, dejected, somber.
What an expression.
"For what it's worth, I want you to fight."

"Thank you."

I am a rock.

I am a rock.
I am an island.
-

This thing thumping in me, is an idiot.
It deserves something else, better or worse.

What in the !@#$%^&*&()_)+ am I typing.

At this moment, now.

We're both in this, together.

The words crave expression
Accompanied by thoughts lingering
And ignorance teasing
Like an old balloon, it is held
Released with too much eagerness
Hoping she finds alleviation
With the new air

Not too much, not too much to ask at all.

Good morning, sunshine.

Waking up today, it was cold out
There's something I should say, but I can't get my head around
The bends in your brain and your elaborate pain
Makes me tired

As an old balloon, I hold my breath
Like a penance paid too soon, and with too much eagerness
To know what is true
When air is changed by you
Makes it hard
.

I think last night

you were driving circles around me.


Not everything's about you. It doesn't matter even if it was.
You'll never be happier than you are now, and there's really nothing wrong with that.

I'm selfish, too.
-

Fleeting, as it may seem.
Nothing passes without rememberance.
Like an old photograph, fades.
And negatives lost.
Even so.
Bittersweet, the indifference spared.
We're here, then we're gone.

.

Right from the beginning, I couldn't explain why I felt as if something bad was going to happen.
Now I know it was you.
Were you telling the truth, like you always do?
I wish I could doubt you. Just this once.

Starting with your right hand.

Chords learnt.
It's too sunny a day for this song.
It's soothing, though.

I haven't felt like this in a long time.
Work doesn't make my nerves tingle.
Countless e-mails and Word documents.

Somewhere along I uncover photos, those seemingly taken ages ago. I wonder how I felt. I don't remember. Maybe that's the entire point of making decisions. You decide whether you want to relive it or not. Maybe it's when you can't decide that memories replay and you feel like you want to make new ones.

I noticed I said 'I'. Is that wrong? Must it always be about the other? I seem to take notice of all the wrong things, look forward to events that do not necessarily mean anything to anyone. Except maybe me. And maybe not as well. Maybe I'm just trying to make it a 'thing'.

I don't know. Stupid ramblings.

Stop

raining,
thinking,
searching,
giving,
waiting,
being.
It's the wrong kind of place to be thinking of you.
Quit playing around.
Stop singing.
Stop wanting to hear it.
Is it alright?
It's not alright.
I don't want to hear it.
It's a small crime, and I've got no excuse.

I've got, a message.

My song is love
Love to the loveless shown
And it goes on
You don't have to be alone

Your heavy heart
Is made of stone
And it's so hard to see clearly
You don't have to be on your own
You don't have to be on your own

And I'm not gonna take it back
And I'm not gonna say I don't mean that
You're the target that I'm aiming at
Got to get that message home

My song is love
My song is love, unknown
But I'm on fire for you, clearly
You don't have to be alone
You don't have to be on your own

And I'm not gonna take it back
And I'm not gonna say I don't mean that
You're the target that I'm aiming at
And I'm nothing on my own
Got to get that message home

And I'm not gonna stand and wait
Not gonna leave it until it's much too late
On a platform I'm gonna stand and sing
That I'm nothing on my own
And I love you, please come home

My song is love, is love unknown
And I've got to get that message home

To tell you.

'You don't like me very much, do you?'

"Er.."

'No, it's good, it's good,
because I need to tell you something.
I need to tell you because I need to tell somebody and..
You're a robot. You can take it.'

"Okay."

'I can't tell you here.'

"Okay."

'I can't.'

"Okay."

'Okay.'

It's not like I can

expect anything.

I need everything to
be
slowly understood.
To not make myself
go
down.
Like how I did before.
I need to listen, to observe, to sense, to feel.
I need less of actually thinking, of interpreting.
Less assumptions.
Less thoughts.
I want to be caught up in those moments.
To just be present, just there, just like that.

It's so much more beautiful that way.

Sometimes some things cannot be fixed.

We all go through life like bulls in a china shop.
A chip here, a crack there.
Doing damage to ourselves, to other people.
The problem is trying to control the damage we've done,
or that's been done to us.
Sometimes the damage catches us by surprise.
Sometimes we think we can fix the damage.

What I am to you,

is not real.
you do not need.
is not what you mean to me.


How to even begin.
Describing the inner workings of the heart.
Not possible.
(Those) moments are all we have.
Keep them close.

Spinning.

Head bursting with thoughts.
Irrelevance.
Unprecedented feelings.
Heart isn't working today.
Holidaying in Utah.
Seemingly swelling irises.
Hurts to look at the screen.
Weariness; no relief though.
Should really try to sleep.

She's not happy.

She sits alone, watching the telly.
They stand behind her.
Arrivals. A gentle touch, a squeeze of her hand.
She smiles.
Anger brews quietly around her.
Arguing, chairs screeching on the floor.
Nasty words spewing amongst.
She sits and watches. She listens.
She asks.
No, no. It's nothing, they say.
It continues. She watches still.
Hurried, violent departures.
Awkwardness, uncomfortable silence.
Still she sits alone, watching her telly.

The air around seems different now.

Idiot. (I am)

Blurry like a railroad journey
You get down, so
You need the music that enrings
You've got someone in your hand
Another in your mistiness
And several in your open arms
Sometime, sometime

Maybe you’ll pin nothing else on me
I get down sometimes
And I am perforated plenty
It’s you on the train
You don’t know where you’re heading to
Or even where you started out from

Noone ever talks to me like you do
I don’t like what you say, but at least it’s true



Perforated plenty.

What I really need.

The smiles, glances, laughter and that fifteen minutes.

Who doesn't?

Can anybody truthfully say:

I don't ever judge others.
I don't ever look down on others.
I don't ever malign others.
I'm never selfish.


Don't say it too soon; you never know what you might or might not do.

Not supposed to

be happy when you initiate.
be happy when you respond.
be happy in your 'presence'.
be happy when you are just there.

'Cos some parts are broken.

I do not need this.

But I might want it.

We can't always have the things we want. It would be too easy then. We're an uncontented species, always wanting to achieve more, always wanting to climb higher. What we're all forgetting is that the higher we go, the lower we'll fall eventually. If that's not called asking for it, I don't know what it can be called.

On a more random note,
I would like to hear more from you. It does calm me down.

Possessed to obsess.

I have this compulsive, obsessive personality disorder which drives me to sprout nonsense and babble on about random issues and bare embarrassing facts and say things without thinking or not really saying whatever I wanted to say in the first place and dodging questions which I know I want to answer.

I just can't stop thinking or waiting or thinking again.

It doesn't mean I'm already on another train or waiting to climb on board one. I just want to stay on the platform and watch the passing trains. Being here calms me down and makes me feel contented.

You're my person.

Thanks for being that for me.

Thanks for being emotional, secretive, mysterious.
More importantly, thanks for coming back to fix me.

Thanks for letting me stay, for listening, for offering.
Thanks for uncondtionally supporting me.
Thanks for telling me it's okay to make mistakes, and that I do deserve everything good.




Thanks for being you.

I want to make you happy, too.

I knew I knew it then.

'The truth is painful.

Deep down, nobody wants to hear it, especially when it hits close to home. Sometimes we tell the truth because the truth is all we have to give. Sometimes we tell the truth because we need to say it out loud to hear it for ourselves. And sometimes we tell the truth because we just can't help ourselves. Sometimes, we tell them because we owe them at least that much.'

It's only my heart,

save yourself.


I'm just the same.
Same as I ever was.

I guess I should know better,

when it comes to falling.




God my heart's going to spontaneously combust.
I hate this feeling so much.
I can't seem to let go today.
What's wrong?
There's no such thing as what anybody wants, there's just too much of us filled with nothing.

Does what I didn't say speak for itself already?

At the end of the day, there are some things you just can't help but talk about. Some things we just don't want to hear, and some things we say because we can't be silent any longer. Some things are more than what you say, they're what you do. Some things you say cause there's no other choice. Some things you keep to yourself. And not too often, but every now and then, some things simply speak for themselves.

The Look.

I think it was on the last day of the last year of my supposed adolescence.



It's so stupid/not stupid(?). Just go/don't go(?) and leave my thoughts alone.