I’ll gather the loose threads of our hearts with delicate fingers and with my heart laid upon needles and with my knees scraped and with my other hand clasped tight with yours, fingers interlacing
if I can
(but I can’t)
I know I love you when I start sleeping with your sweater against my chest, with my heart palpitating in sync with the waft of your smell, with my heart rested upon the comfort of your warmth
I know I love you
i’m still learning how to grapple with waves of jubilation/exhilaration/poignancy/trepidation while savoring each passing moment which slither through my hands like fistfuls of sand.
my sky is painted a constant grey with minimal hues of blue or streaks of pink or a palette of orange. and i feel as if i’m stuck in this state of neutrality until something sweeps me off my feet again. i dare not seek the similarity between neutrality and contentment because i’m afraid of being fooled (by myself) into thinking that they are the same. they’re similar yet different, not the same. there must be more to life than this constant state of neutrality. i’ll never be compelled to write or feel in this perpetual state of nothingness. only when i’m stranded on isolated islands of extreme emotions will my pen do its
magic work. i want to write again.
i’ll write about oceans and seas and those blue pits of nothingness but i won’t. they scare me with their engulfing waves and their vastness. can you imagine sinking with your feet never gracing the seabed? can you imagine clinging onto a flimsy piece of wood with nothing but blue in sight? i yearn to see the oceans in the eyes of a poet - yale blue with speckles of sunlight with the occasional sightings of iridescent jellyfishes and the comforting squawks of seagulls. but i can’t. i see the oceans as blue pits of uncertainty. as blue monsters with waves as tentacles, engulfing everything in sight. sometimes, i’ll dream of drowning and
sinking sinking sinking
but what scares me isn’t the act of drowning. what scares me is that i may sink and never stop. my feet will never grace the seabed and there’ll be nothing in sight to cling on to even as i wrestle with the waters.
i don’t know whats with the sudden influx of words but. yes.
A writer for the new york times interviewed a series of people who had survived jumping off the golden gate bridge. Every person she interviewed admitted that about two thirds of the way down, they realized that every seemingly meaningless problem that caused them to jump was fixable.
Every single one.
this gave me chills.
Reblogging this again because it matters.
at night when all the monsters come out to play
tangling heart strings
re arranging smiles
piecing fragmented jigsaw pieces of thoughts
i’ve tried to encapsulate what we have into purple prose and exaggerated imageries and i’ve tried to encompass what with have into mere words embellished with italics or elevated in bold but everything proves to be futile
but i hope you fathom that
i seek comfort with my hand nestled in your hand
with your arm angular round my neck
in your choking laughter and boyish giggles
in frank confessions and awkward admissions
i take pride in the fanfare illustrated with every sound your trumpet produce
i find solace in our countless 5 more minutes conversations (and meet ups)
i yearn to see your (QT PIEEEEEE) imperfect-impecabble face
and i’ll go on but this list will never end
and i’ll go on but just be aware that i really do and i hope you do too
(ps. don’t feel too good about yourself or tease me about it if not …………..)
displacement of impeccable hearts along a line of fault
i want to trace your intricate palm lines and maybe they’ll lead you to me
I never planned to be a fugitive or escapist or anything along that line. But recently I find myself stuffing scrunched up receipts labelled with feelings into once empty pockets and I feel like a primary school student with a trolley like bag (laden with everything I should have felt) climbing up flights of stairs. And my arms scream for mercy with every step I harrowingly conquer and it just doesn’t get easier. My knees buckle under the weight and caged thoughts only escape through shallow gasps through quivering lips. And I don’t know whether I’ll ever reach where I want to go and I don’t think I want to know.