Driftwood wishes and indigo dreams

Someplace else, I find myself mid-air. Suspended like a bewildered ghost; a half-read poem filled with hope. Here, there is no time or space. There are no relics of your presence leaving me disconcerted – breathless.

I am a a riot of color; a burst of light. I stomp my feet on pretentious laurels. I cut ties with sharpened tongue. Here, in the midst of the night, I am not a misplaced fragment. I am sought, not seeking.

But daybreak is such a jealous lover. It comes with ticking knives – stripping each layer of my disillusionment. I am back to my boring flaws. I plead for another second of peace; press my cheeks on the pillow. By no means. Reality struck me with all its hate.

And the stars weep.

I find myself on tiptoes. A danseuse on high relevé; the second half of a poem filled with woes. Here, there are no more tulips beneath my feet, and feelings don’t wilt as quickly as flowers do.

How do I marry dreams and reality? Can the laws of nature bend for a sappy miss who got courage as her only feat?

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Today, I found myself scrolling through someone’s IG account. She’s been one of my closest girlfriends and it’s a wonder how our different personalities kept us binded for many years. As I look at her pictures and read its captions, I am reminded of how bad of a friend I have become. I hid behind lame excuses (time zones and distance) but truth is I got too caught up in the troubles of the world that I fail to see the troubles of those most important to me. I feel sad that the strong person that I know she is, is fighting the emotional and mental battle on her own. And I feel worse that I don’t have the best words to make things better. This one is inspired my some of her captions.

Vignette: Make-believes

I want to ask you to leave. To desert this open field that I am in before the flowers grow and wilt. But I can’t. I choose not to. Because deep within the chambers of this heart, a part of me begs for you to stay.
I want to believe that ours is like the coffee – bittersweet. That we can laugh and scream at each other but we will always end up cuddling under the night sky. You, tracing the stars. I, smiling at the moon.
I want to believe that we can sing our differences away and find common ground in love. That we can dance, barefoot, amid the prickly grass. My head on your shoulder, your arms round my waist.

I want to believe. I want to. I want.

There is no easy way to get to you, is it?

And yet again I let you slip between the gaps of my fingers. I always pride myself for having words as my sword and my shield but you — you always manage to disarm me. My lips are forged into a pair of frustration and denial; my tongue tied like a knot.

“I’m okay, I don’t care”, chants the unsung hero in my sleep. Another night of deep sighs. Another night of uttering the words I will never get to say. There is no easy way to get to you, is it? I was always a step behind your smile. Too close but not close enough. Now I’m a step behind the aisle. And you… you will always be the wind I fail to catch with these hands.

Vignette: The forgotten pages of whines

The excitement of being lost wears off rather quickly_(p.21). As bad luck would have it_(p.31), the fantasy was primarily an adventure story_(p.33). As I grew older_(p.35), I spent half my waking moments repairing_(p.50), retaining some degree of dignity_(p.65) over the years_(p.66). I cannot tell you how long the ensuing battle lasted_(p.81) — years_(p.104), a few days_(p.102), an hour or so_(p.114). Why is it so difficult_(p.175) to perfect the art of whining_(p.186)?

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Weekend cleanup led me to discover this piece written on an index card. I cannot remember what particular book I was reading or when did I jot these lines down. I’m curious to know though what’s on my mind that day… What struck a chord in me? Was it the thought of losing our childishness and childish spirit? Was I missing the outdoors? What was I trying to whine? Is this piece even finished?

Photo via Unsplash

Vignette: Stolen gazes, knowing smiles, paperbacks

Fingers tapping softly on the table, each second a louder beat of the heart. Murmurs, inaudible conversations— your voice drowning the noise of the crowd. Two seconds ago we were strangers, standing at the opposite aisle of a bookstore. You on conspiracies; I on poetry.

Stolen gazes… knowing smiles… paperbacks…

Life’s grand orchestra
Plays a loving melody
For just you and me

Vignette: That familiar color of fire

I was taking a bath when a streak of light hit my skin. From the gap between my wooden window, it came with the color of fire — the kind of orange you get when you light a lamp in the midst of a dim room. The ones we used to play with during brownouts.

Shadows. Silhouettes.

The clock strikes 5:49 pm and a wave of nostalgia begins.

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Was amazed by today’s sunset and I had to write a little something. Also, linking this to this week’s OLN hosted by Grace. Have a great weekend, everyone!

Head over here to join the prompt!

 

Spread love

“Say ‘I love you’ now because tomorrow is never promised.”

Sadly, people nowadays think the phrase is synonymous to either a lie or a form of vanity. Some hold back their emotions, afraid of what others might say. Yes, “I love you” should not — and should never be — randomly thrown away. But if you truly mean it, fuck the rules. You don’t have to shout it to the world. You just have to say it to him, to her, to them. We live in a society filled with too much sadness, hate and depression. And though most of the times action speaks louder than words, there will always be days that it works the other way around. Sometimes it will be words they will be holding on to when you’re far away. It will be words they will be holding on to when you’re both chained to your desks on a busy day. It will be words they will be holding on to when they’re locked in a room with a bottle of pills. It will be words they will be holding on to when they’re on their deathbeds. So don’t hold those words back. Say it to your loved ones, your family, your friends. Spread love.

One day at a time, anxious person

We will never be enough.

For people who walk hand in hand with anxiety, it will always come as a surprise when someone tells us that we are the missing puzzle in his or her life. Everyday we spend precious seconds tiptoeing, walking on thin glass — afraid that one wrong move would break our hard-earned peace of mind. For us, it will always be a question of why. Why me? Why leave? Why stay? We keep a long list of why’s on our pockets so whenever we feel like we took a bad step and notice the slightest change, we know what to start asking. Why did his tone dropped a little lower? Why is she touching her ears? Why did it took him extra 2 seconds to answer?

People say that we should learn to trust others. But, truth is, they are not the problem. We can hand them all the trust we have, but we can never fully trust ourselves. We will never be a good enough reason for anything. Not smart enough. Not kind enough. Not talented enough. Not pretty enough. Sooner or later they will realize that we are the not the missing puzzle. We are the puzzle. And that is the hardest thing.

But keep going.
Keep breathing.

One day at a time, anxious person. 🌻

You like sad girls.

You like sad girls.

You look at their faces and you want to save them. You think they need to be loved, that they should be. You want to make them happy.

So you take your step. With the air of a knight in shining armor, you walk up to the girl who is probably sitting alone on a table for two. Or wave to the girl who has been sharing memes and Bob Ong quotes.

You get a taste of her sharp tongue but you know deep inside, in all realness, she is just a sad girl. So you keep on talking.

Hours, days, weeks, months — you let her feel your presence. You let her see that you care. Know that you’re sincere. The sad streak on her face will slowly fade and you will find her passing a smile.

You get a sense of satisfaction. But that is not enough. You try to hold her, gently, but soon you realize you will have to hold her tight. You still have to get through her wall. Your ego will not let you lose, so keep doing more. More sweet talk, more care, more time, more effort.

Until her protective wall collapses. And you see her closing the distance between the two of you. That is your reward.

She starts telling you her story and history. At first you like it. You like to see how dark her world was and how much light you have brought into her life. You fill her heart with love and she gets better. She does. She no longer talks of heartaches or fears or ghosts from the past. She looks forward to tomorrow with her hopeful eyes glistening with joy.

But as time flies, you start missing your sad girl. You no longer see the pain. You realize your project is over. So you leave her. To look for your next sad girl. Another charity case for you to fix.

 

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A story one the radio reminded me of this piece I wrote a while ago. This one is inspired by a friend’s short-lived love story. Have you been through the same thing? Have you met someone who likes sad girls?