Starting Again There are no markers. It is a vacuum that mixes all. I have managed in the past to name and make sense of my world. Now the universe, yet again remains a mystery. I am engulfed in the abyss. And I wish only thing. Clearly. I hope that there be enough light, so I can start again.

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Light Rain, 28°C

336 Tangke

I want to fly.
I want to run.
I want to climb a mountain
Or seek to see the heavens.

I cry for all the seconds missed
Away from you.

I pine for the touch of your hand
And the smell of nicotine from
Your lips.

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Light Rain, 28°C

While she lives her life.
I am backed against a corner.
So as not to collide…

With the magnanimous movements
And noise she makes.

I waste away
And sleep
Or drown out
the noise
With subtitles.

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War Within

Did he love me? (is there any point in even asking the question?)

no one can really answer it outside of him who I loved.

(just for the sake of asking though, let’s get it out of our system.)

what really was that? 

was I just totally, completely, idiotically mistaken?

Am I too late to ask it now?

was it all just my illusion or hallucination?

can I ever be forgiven for turning my back on a life I have committed myself to

just so I can  test my illusion?

will I ever be forgiven?

Have I forgiven myself to start with?

It seems like an eternity ago, that I dare not say it out loud anymore (  or even think about)

When I start to think about it, a default security system goes off in my head saying,

“there is no use in thinking about it, as life chose to happen this way”

There is no reason to be ashamed though. There is no reason to hide it.

There has to be some level of acceptance and comprehension to be processed by me and me alone.

Even now, my dear friend, you lead me to face myself and be more true.

Cry out in the empty room

It is the wee hours of the morning. Something has been biting me since maybe a week, two weeks, a month ago?

The world has become so small in my eyes or so huge that I can’t even begin to imagine its actual size.

My heart goes beating and I hear all too well the sound of an echo.
I am hungry. I am empty.
I stand and let it engulf me.
Maybe then I can find myself back.
For what purpose? I do not know.

A problem of light…

IT is scary how we can either oversimplify or complicate things according to how we see them or how we feel.

The problem of Subjectivity makes the truth nebulous.

Truth is a grain of light pure and maybe blinding.

We chip it, chisel it until we can actually look at it and make it our own creation.

We use it according to our purposes. Utilitarian, haphazardly, uselessly, it depends on who holds the light.

It is downright unnerving.

 

I am so tired and sleepy.