Careless.

We are a careless species.

We lose things without knowing.

But sometimes they leave behind a tiny fragment of themselves that lets us guess at the original.

- Martin Davies.

For most of us, it's Innocence
For the simple poets, it's Childhood
For blind people, it's the Sight
to see real things.

For me, it's a face
That I Will get back.

Paper

I feel like paper.
Paper, stretched tight, yet not supposed to tear.

I feel like a thin sheet of plastic. Holding together two ends of a chasm that is widening.

I feel like I could melt away, fall apart into microscopic pieces, self-combust, get swallowed up by the ground or in some other way escape into nonexistence.

I feel like a myriad of questions, questions and more questions. The lifeline on my hand looks like a big question mark. And answers are nowhere to be found.

I feel like cracked lips, salty and burning from an endless flow of tears. I feel like the kohl in my eyes, trying endlessly to hold on through a flood.

But I also feel like I'm going to get washed away anyway.

My mind is an endless swirl of black and grey. Light is playing tricks with me, hiding behind the worst of the dark.

Mesmerised, I try to find patterns in the black. The grey is smoke, drifting to who-knows-where, the grey is rainy clouds, about to pour on me.

The grey is your eyes, thought your eyes are a deep brown, the grey is your white-toothed smile.

Do you know how imperfect I am? Do you know my faults, my cracks, the heart I carry around in shreds?

Do you know how much you have to heal? How many questions you have to answer?

Answer me. I am the question.
Answer me. Complete my existence.

My mind and my heart feel empty. They are too full of torturous thoughts. Yet they're empty.

Fill them up. Make them look at each other and smile and agree with each other for once.

Make me dream. Show me the colours that are eluding me; make me see beyond the black and the mesmerising grey. Show me the brown of your eyes and the white gleam of your smile.

Show me a mirror that is not broken. Show me a perfect reflection of me, and make me believe that I am looking at myself.

Don't tell me that nobody's perfect, because that doesn't stop people expecting.

Pick up my pieces, glue them back together. I know they won't hold that way for long, but try. I may actually heal. I need to heal.

I need to breathe. I need to feel my own shallow heartbeat.

Love me. Know my pain and don't push me away; know my pain and show me the way. Tell me you'll be here, and don't break the promise.

Broken promises hurt
like paper cuts.

Questions

We all have 'em, don't we?
I don't know. There are just so many of them everywhere, discarded on the pavement along with broken hearts, suppressed in minds under the weight of ego, drifting in and out of dreams, and soon forgotten.
Leaking out of eyes full of tears, seen, unseen, ignored, acknowledged but left unanswered.

These are strange games we play, pretend to not have seen things we have, pretend to ourselves that we don't know answers that we do, afraid of facing truths, not wanting to lie.

How many of them do we actually want answered, though? Are we not afraid? That's why we leave them unasked, we let it go, though we are the stubborn people who always get what we actually want. We leave them there on the pavement, along with the shards we don't know how to fix, and assume that we can go down to the store and buy a new heart. One that doesn't have so many questions.

But we can't. We can't and we know it. Yet we leave it as a question: Can I?

So when we finally face the answer and know that our ignorance, or rather, pretence, has made us heartless in every sense of the word, we go back to the pavement and look for our heart, but of course they'd been swept away into the trash along with the questions we are, at last, ready to Google, and all we can find are the little leftover pieces which the big broom couldn't take away. And those little pieces are all we have left, splinters of someone we vaguely remember. Someone we used to be.

Don't hide your questions; don't throw them out of the window of your car. They don't pollute anything but your heart, even after you think you've let go of them. Let them take the window seat. Be curious, get your answers; there'll be nothing left to regret, because asnwers can prick but questions....questions leave scars.

Dream and hope, because it shows you how to live.
Question and answer, because they teach you everything.
Smile and cry...for one is incomplete without the other.

Long Time?

Wow. It's been long.

Oh well. I can say that I've been busy and not be lying.

Haha. Busy is SUCH an understatement.

Ever noticed how when things come to an end, you realise that they were good?
Nelly Furtado would be so proud.
But it's true.
School's coming to an end for me, and suddenly I know what a comfort zone it is. I'm not saying I'll be missing the 6 am wake-up calls and stuff, because I won't.
I really really won't.
But there is something about putting on a uniform when you're half-asleep every morning and knowing that no one's going to judge you for it.
Well, not much.
I don't know what it is. I'm trying to disentangle my feelings about leaving my friends from my feelings about school itself, and am clearly not very successful.
I guess, when you've stuck with one institution for fourteen years the way I have, something about it tends to grow on you.
Yeah. That may be it.
I'm spacing out for now. Maybe later.

Accepting Reality =)

I kind of realised, on retrospection, that I complain a lot.


Well, actually, that would be general for the entire human population, if you exclude the Jamie-from-A-Walk-To-Remember types.
It's strange, isn't it? How much we complain about the things we have, the things we want and the things we can never have. As if it makes any sort of an improvement in the situation.
Yeah, no.
Whoever said that there is an 'up' side to everything knew what he was talking about. If there's something wrong with your life, there has to be something good about it. If you've got a lot of crap to deal with, there is definitely something good coming out of it. Not the crap, exactly. Just the experience of dealing with it.
If there are a lot of people you hate, there have to be people, maybe a select, special few, who you love with all your heart. There is always something that makes everything else completely worth it.
There is always a balance. There is beauty in balance.
The experiences of life help you grow as a person. This is it, the life lessons the grownups say you don't learn at school (they got that wrong, I guess), the falling and getting up and again, the getting into the water and drowning by staying there.
I remember being depressed about my dreamworld shattering. But now, I know that dreams are dreams, but reality is something else altogether. It's a rush, a rollercoaster ride. It's being truly alive. It's not being perfect, it's not having everything you have, It's making the most of what you do have and pursuing what you want. It's falling in love and having a heartbreak, it's like having chocolate to chase the heartache away. It's the cloudy grey sky before a storm, it's the rainbow after it. It's being who you want to be. It's a hell of an experience.


It's life, full on, unceasing and never waiting.
Imperfection is exactly why it's so real. Perfection is just too boring.


So all of those people out there, who feel that life sucks (God save me from the number of people I've heard saying that, and they call me depressed/emo/goth...) I hope this message finds its way to you and burns some of my certainty into your heart, so that the next time you start out with a complaint, you think about this and look for the happiness waiting to be found. Because you may feel like a lot of things worth being upset about surround you, but happiness is inside you, in a glowing golden chamber just waiting to be opened.


Here's hoping I don't sound like a Sunshine Girl Scout high on her first beer. O.O

Moving On

Have you noticed how everyone always makes a big deal about moving on?
Really. Every time you leave someone behind, you fret that your life won't be the same without them. They are important bits of your life.
But the truth is, most people find it easy to leave most people behind. Being on the verge of separating from, well, everything I've ever known, I realise that I'm contemplating everything as a life-and-death matter. There is nothing to be scared of, as such. I mean, sure, there are some people and things that will always give me a stomach-ache of longing every time I think of them (which, I'm guessing, is going to be a lot, especially initially), most things, places and people are like the old dusty boxes lying in the attic. My life could go on just fine without them.
In fact, I'm certain that there are some things that I'd be better off without.
But that's always what it's like, isn't it? Histories are never fully good and worth remembering.
I guess what I'm saying is, moving on isn't really the issue. The issue is moving on while holding on to the best of what you've had. Most people tend to live in the past because they are afraid of losing their happy memories. But there's beauty in the future, and the present, not just the past.
And as it's already been decided that the only thing constant is change, moving on is completely inevitable.

So next time there's something or someone you have to leave behind, don't say goodbye with tears. Give them a smile, let them know you'll be fine. Anyone worth caring about will want exactly that.


Disclaimer: This is not for the Bella-Swan-types.

Clones

This one's for the so-called clones.
Very often in life you come across certain people who, well, remind you of yourself in ways that you would've preferred to think you were perfectly unique. But we all come across one person who, in my words, steals our individuality. Whether or not you have much respect for your individual personality and how different it is, there will always be one person who makes you want to scream: UGH!! Stop reading my mind!!

Because, well, they can't help it any more that you can. Sometimes, you find people who may actually be very different from you on the outside, but the way in which both of you think will be freakishly similar. There must be some logical explanation for these similarities, but I have yet to find it.
Until then, well, I will just be very close to scared every time my mind is read by a person, who, in my case, I have met all of one time.
That is all. Once. So it's not even influence of any sort.
So, until the scientific explanation for why some people can be so weirdly similar even though they've lived completely different lives comes along, I'm also going to secretly enjoy the fact that there is one person in six billion that I can completely and honestly relate to. =)