Running for Time.

Have you noticed how time seems to just run away screaming just when you think that there's a lot of it?
Give it time. Give me time.
And before you know it, with all your brooding over it, it's gone.
Gone, gone gone.

Never to come back.

It's true that right now I'm stuck in this massive abyss of an interstice, between school and college, between heartbreak and moving on, between love and friendship and nothing at all.

(Reference to: Friends Lovers or Nothing on my brilliant new John Mayer cd. *aaa*)

So basically stuck in an interstice of periods, time should be one thing I'm willing to allow the passing of, regardless of the utter pointlessness of my permission - I mean, as if time is at my back and call and halts at my merest suggestion.
Hah, I wish.

But still, we like to delude ourselves about our own control over things, so I'm supposed to be ok with time passing yes? I'm supposed to be freakin' out of my mind with all this excess time at my hands and just want it out of my way. I'm supposed to want to get to college already and turn eighteen and apply for my driver's licence (whee).

And here I am, an idiot if there ever was one, reading up old diary entries and things I should really really not even look at, given the delicate stance of all things around me right now.

So your first kiss is always your first kiss and you sometimes feel lonely and want to feel it all over again, and winning that school competition you never even got your certificate for was one of the most exhilarating things that happened to you.
So what?

Must move on.
Must move on.

And it's so so easy to think that you are, getting caught up in little tasks of tomorrow (read college applications, Transfer certificates etc) but the truth is that when you lie in bed at night, you dream about those school corridors and people that have quite unwittingly become a part of you.
Love 'em or hate 'em, they're there.
Deal with it.

And then you have a reality check and realise, all in a rush, that you're not ready. Stark terror seizes you when you realise that where you are still has some light shed on it by the past, but the future is this big black something you don't recognise.

Talk about pessimism.

And urgh, suddenly you wish that this interstice could go on forever and ever and leave you with some ghost of an excuse to just hold on to everything and not let go.

But the excuse is slipping away fast, like time. Time is the excuse. I'd better think of a new one.

Ah, life, and thy misery.

The First Time I've Cried For You In a Long Time

My tears are falling down
even surprising me;
I didn't see them coming
so sudden and so free.

They speak of times
they speak of a place
A scar in my heart
that your fingers trace
A dream that flew
off a high terrace
Before getting lost
in outer space.

They wonder what will
replace your name
on every foggy
window pane;
What dreams would I dream
to make me smile
every morning in bed
and close my eyes for a while?

I wipe the tears away
and chide them for being so silly
They play hide and seek with the fact
that there's someone else out there for me.

I shush them, quieten them
put them to sleep
there're no more questions that
I want to weep
I want to wake with a smile
for no one but me
And go back at night
to my own sweet dreams.

And again they come
out in a spill
Surprising me again
as they always will
This time not in want
this time not in pain
Nor were these for
a jaunt down memory lane;
no, now the tears that fall
are making peace with time
that heals, for now I know
that even without you, I'll be fine.

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