Burn so bright I wonder what the wave meant. w00t.

Wait a minute I'm passin' out win or lose...

Frenzy and (wrong) value judgments made in the nick of time. Relying on past examples of getting-away-with-it and pulling-it-off ( so many). Fueled by over-sweetened black corporate poison and an intense desire to get this over and done with. Self-reflection when there's really no time for it, and a lack of company.

In bursts I don't know what to do with myself, with this syllabus, with my insane last minute endeavors. There's everything but an hour and a half of tomorrow to look forward to.

Godspeed?

You're welcome.

Kick start the golden generator
Sweet talk but don't intimidate her

Is that why you wanted a love song?

Too much work and a lack of concentration fueled by the desire to let go and write and scream. But how?
There's a block surrounding us and we're being consumed by the fire we began ourselves. Too ambitious, perhaps? Too eager? I'm told bitter truths that I swallow in sugar coated pills, pills that let out bursts of cyanide into my thoughts, until I am not I and you are not you, our world is changed, and there are no intersections in the venn diagram of our story.
Except maybe love.
But was love ever enough, as much as it may be? Does it part oceans, shake mountains, perform those miracles? Or is it just... Something that's there. Abstract, intangible. Is it possible for something to die when all you have is love? Wasn't it supposed to be the glue that holds it all together. "We might not have anything, but we have love." transforms into "We might have love, but we have nothing else."
I have no idea when and how that happened. I don't even know if it's happened. Sometimes I wonder about the past and how the years shaped the path I was going to take. I wonder if I'm a tad bit heartless, if I'm deliberately insensitive.
Insecure, invalidated. So am I.


I'm trying to let you hear me as I am

Bombed.

They flew off the roof, I stared in awe and horror and shock and... I stared. A death rally, mobs clad in black setting alight crimson fires and a celebration of the utter morbidity reached by mankind. They stood there with last goodbyes on their lips, reckless and loud, eyes screaming vengeance and rage. I stared still, waiting, immobile.
The crowd jeered, the noises clashed and collided, like a deluge of misery washing over me,and I was mesmerized. A row of men and women, preparing to propel themselves into thin air as the ultimate act of rebellion. The most profane of sacrifices, lined up as they were on that rooftop. Oh, it was such a convoluted joy then in that mob.
And then,"Allahu Akbar", an explosion.Or was it cheering? The shattering bodies, bloody fireworks and sparks and ashes. Orange red gray. Guts, concrete, fire, smoke. Alarms.

A declaration of our own funeral, a collective suicide song ringing high in the charcoal air, and then, silence. For the dead and departed, for the pieces of flesh and bones strewn in the mob's feet. They coloured their foreheads with burning blood and let go of the inhibitions tying them to this half baked sanity. Incited, ignited, they cried "La Illaha Il Allah, Muhammadur Rasool Allah!", a chant eerily disturbing to me after being used for a lifetime as a confession of my faith. Who was I then, in the face of this unknown Islam?

Who were these people I saw, and when had this happened?

Swords were unsheathed, and criminals who looked like me were brought out. Women, girls, little children, made to stand right there in the middle of that circle, and still I stared. I stared as they began slicing here and there, watching the blood spill out, as the mob warded off satan from the souls of these infidels who hadn't donned the nameless, faceless black garb of these apparent revolutionaries.

And then, I snapped out of my trance. Backed out of the balcony, ran inside to protect my family, because I had seen what they remained oblivious to. Knowing, even in my desire to save, the futility of it all. Because I was not nameless, or faceless. I was not covered. But I ran. And just as I was reaching that lock, the door burst open.

I saw the metal stained red. I smelled the blood and soot on their clothes, I saw the hatred in their eye for us. I wondered which God I should pray to, because they had claimed mine for their own and excluded me from faith.

And then my eyes flew open.
The clock said 11 am.

Gas tank.

Love shoots her in the middle of her forehead, point-blank range. It's such a game of hide and seek, the endless riddles plaguing the days of a beautiful dream, now on its last legs, now brand new again. The polarity is annoying, astounding, magical. A word throws her off balance, and then he pulls her back up, preventing a hard, skull crushing fall.

She remembers curling up against walls and sobbing till her heart is empty, letting out all the joy that made her feel like she would burst. And once she has been detoxified of all that happy, he lets her in again. In her quiet musings, she feels quite like the gas tank of a car that's been going on for a long, long, long time.

She needs a miracle, he a new faith.

Khekhekhe.

Teach me the art of conversation so I might have an excuse to ramble on all night.

It is a very sad thing that nowadays there is so little useless information. -Oscar Wilde

I misspelled conscious, and now it's too late. I have a subconcious but not a subconscious. I wonder what that means. I wonder if there's a difference. Oh this is so very, very unnecessary. I want cake, made into a house, on a boat. Then I'll blow out the candles and sing happily ever after.

For rain, look into heart.

Rain twinkles down in perfectly shaped droplets of hard, clear candy and pierces the orange glow of streetlamps. Shining drops descend like swarms of fireflies onto the earth, raising the musky smell of a monsoon gone wild and the soil gives off wave after wave after wave of the scent. This I want to capture in my palm and feed into my heart, so that I might turn inwards whenever it strikes my fancy..How simple it would be to satisfy that crazy craving, with a set of instructions anyone could follow.
Capture smell of rain.
Set free inside heart.
Look into heart whenever needed.
Smile.

Rinse, and repeat.

But for now, I will watch the battle between the streetlamps and the rain. Until, all of a sudden, the lights will be snuffed out.
Guess who wins?

Fade out.

He lives in the heart of his heart, and shares with no one the secrets that meander through the crevices of his life. Sometimes, just sometimes, when he puts his palm against hers, the secrets become her own. Without knowledge of why and what, she accepts this token of approval and swears not to betray. The map of their (uncertain) time together has been swallowed by tears and water, there are blots and blurs where there were cities and oceans once. They go on, though even the uncertainty isn't confirmed. Nothing is, nothing ever can be when you cross lines not meant to be crossed, and that, is what she has done.

But it is alright for now, the cracks momentarily hidden between their palms, like a flaw hidden in a delicate porcelain vase. Now it's broken, now it's not, there's no telling who will display the wrong side, bring out the very obvious mistake. There is a sigh of relief and an oath of apology.

The effervescence is gone, leaving in the wake of this loss a glowing, spectral hue. This translucent tragedy, with its beautifully tearing up halo, a victory with an unfulfilled w(hole) in it.

I walk away again with my heart in my hand. Exit stage.
Here comes the routine I know all too well.
I switch off my phone not because I'm afraid there'll be messages, that I'll have to talk. I do it because I'm afraid of the exact opposite. My strategy: reject before being rejected. Fuck up before being fucked over.
I hate my defense mechanisms.

Cause we've all been painted by numbers-

You said it was love
I said I'd like you to be mine

Two I love yous you say without really saying anything at all, and in a trail of "you too"s here's a declaration of undying com(passion), an eternal promise, a relationship made pregnant (?) by expectation. Until we miscarry. Our lovechild, this love bleeds away into the wind, as wisps of yesterday meet the disappointment of today and there is no puddle left behind. C02 does not leave puddles,no water to clean up, no mess, dissolvable stitches leave no scars. Love and medicine have come a long way, you can't see marks anymore, who talks about 50 years when 50 hours will suffice for the climax and Anti?
I am not a cynic, I am but a bystander objectifying the objectification of our affection, as love gains a tangible quality, a wholly new sensory overload. Too much too soon, move up, move over.

We've all been painted by numbers. Recreate a masterpiece, every heart will have a Sistine Chapel. 1, 2, 3, replay the downfall of Adam and Eve, then erase, move over because it's too intense and all you wanted was.. A Mona Lisa.

The music is tempestous, filling my ears and my head, behind my eyes in bright blue-green circles of rioting and chaos, enough to make me close my eyes. Enough to allow my head to willingly spin, a full, whopping 360 degrees of release into frenzied euphoric solos of the guitar and pounding bass sort. Gold lion's gonna tell me where the light is..Oh yes, Gold lion is.
Explosions.
Uh oh.
I want to push and shove anyone, everyone out of my room, this is my time, my space. This is my hangover to deal with, and who are you? (no wisecracks allowed, you don't get that chance.) What to do but sit and marvel at wrecked trains and crashed planes, whose little bitch are you supposed to be anyway? And while we're at it, won't you tell me what it's about?

Ans: Refer to paragraph 1.

Idols.

Afraid to see the truth of what we have been worshiping, we cast down our eyes. Yet if we look up, we might find that our altar has no idols, or that the idols we put there have fallen and we behold something else shining in their place. In searching the darkness, we have found light.
Eleanor Herman in Sex With Kings

The bubble bursts into thousands of tiny shards of glass, one of them is me. I fly through the window, thrown by you into a river, in the midst of pebbles skipped by people sitting on the bank. Surrounded, I sink lower and lower, the rays of sun dull into these depths of a barren seascape. I wait, and I wait, and I wait, for a strong current, a flood, anything that will take me out to sea.
This is like nothing I ever saw, not like anything it was supposed to be underwater. I'm still breathing, I'm still conscious.
I'm still me.
I'm still waiting.

Suddenly, I want to go back to a time where I used to have regrets. Over actions, over people, over events. Now, there have been too many been-theres-and-done-thats. I used to wonder what it felt like to feel there was nothing left to lose, and now I know. It's a lonely sort of liberation, like traveling through Paris without a lover by your side. You crave because you see, not because you need. It's a passing desire, a want that aches and fades. I've got you, but in the ebb and flow of life, who knows where you'll be. Who knows where I will be, who knows where the rest of them are.

It's all gone down into a forgotten lane of memory, you'll forget me, I'll forget you. We all forget one another, what with the constant system of replacements we've cultivated for ourselves.

I wonder if this was the light I'd been looking for, if the idol was worth crashing. I wonder if I'm better off. But more than anything else, I wonder if this is what it's like to just be.

Oh, we love an audience to our misery. We love it so, so much.

Say what?

Who?

There's a lull, a silent, killing, creeping lull. It's deadly, spewing green poison into my thoughts, that oozes out into the rest of me, changes colour, turns into many more deadly hues, so many more. Muddy browns, cemented greys, a vertigo in black.

Sway, sway, sway to this non-conversation in all the dull shades of Melancholy. Who knew not-bright would be this blatant, this loud? What ricochets off the walls surrounding my mind, what rude interruptions am I trying to suppress?

Why do moonlit nights beside the seashore offer no salvation? I wouldn't take any if they were shoved in my face. Just an aching, gaping wound of something missing, but what is it? Where are my answers? Where is my peace? Where is my rainbow, my leprechaun, my gold? Where are the illusions?

This half insanity offers me no explanations. It comes and goes, like a visitor, an uninvited, pestering houseguest. Enter now, exit later, enter again, more exits, every day, hours and hours and hours of halfness, nothing completed. Hold it in, hold it together. For how long? There are no voices whispering "just a little longer."

Nothing.

Xavia, who will save us?

I want to live and breathe.

I need to wash myself again to hide all the dirt and pain
'cause I'd be scared that there's nothing underneath
And who are my real friends?
Have they all got the bends?
Am I really sinking this low?


Eighteen years in the same city, not even one friend to show for it. Some I've pushed away, some pushed me away themselves, some decided they disliked me too much as a person. And before I knew it, it was too late to make any more. I couldn't do it, it wouldn't happen.

This is a fullstop I'm stuck on, there's got to be a new chapter somewhere around the corner. Locating that particular corner is a bit of an issue... there's just so many.

In my head I sit alone in a corner, in a little emo bubble. Wondering, wondering, wondering.

Whuttodo?

"If our friendship depends on things like space and time, then when we finally overcome space and time, we've destroyed our own brotherhood! But overcome space, and all we have left is Here. Overcome time, and all we have left is Now. And in the middle of Here and Now, don't you think that we might see each other once or twice?"
— Richard Bach (Jonathan Livingston Seagull)

"I thought space and time no longer applied to us."

*They do to me.*

"Then why would you send me that quote?"

*Jao na.*

Hello, I am .

I've been walking in the same way as I did
And missing out the cracks in the pavement
And tutting my heel and strutting my feet
"Is there anything I can do for you dear? Is there anyone I could call?
No, and thank you, please madam, I ain't lost, just wandering"



Everyone loves a sad story with a happy ending. Everyone loves it when things suddenly turn around, with some lucky twist of fate and all is forgiven, forgotten. It's all in the past, lost to present happiness, into oblivion. A vacuum filled with happy, gooey, warm and cosy. Except that warm and gooey and happy and all those things don't come about in real life. Except in brief bursts that pop like flimsy bubbles from the cheap soapy water they sell outside parks here.

You end up watching excessive amounts of Grey's Anatomy and start sounding like a teenage Meredith Grey going through a midlife crisis at 18. And a weight problem (which makes it slightly Bridget Jones-isque too). Ha.

I ain't lost, just wandering.

Calendar girl.

If I am lost for a day,try to find me,
But If I don't come back then I won't look behind me.
All of the things that I thought were so easy,
Just got harder and harder each day.


I was thinking of deleting this blog, but I guess I won't after all. There's no one to talk to and nowhere to go and nothing to do and all I can do is write miserably and let the world look into my secrets. No one cares, there's only laughter and secret enjoyment. I don't blame anyone but me. I will never blame anyone but me, because expectations, as I've said before, are a whore.

I'll go back to being numb, thank you very much. I'd take that any day. It's the best I've felt.

Chocolates and butterf(lies) and rainbows and kisses and kittens and candy and..

Nothing.
=)

Why so blue, you?

Paint wash, immersion
in a matt blue emulsion.
Coloured in a thick coat of
melancholy that drips
Off
my skin, in big blue splotches
(Splatter),
And pollutes.
Scourging off
The bright until I am
Blue.
Inside-out & Outside-in
one solid hue.

Fumes intoxicate and
penetrate into
The Personal and
The Private.
no hidden agenda,
I wish I had one concealed,
not interfered with thus
and diluted.
Such a rude interruption,
Tea party gone astray.
Now it’s blue too.

Ultramarine pigment,
Powdered and ground into
Dust
Wave after wave after wave
Of allergies hit and
settle comfortably.
Please, go away,
My uninvited houseguests in
Blue.
This shade isn’t welcome,
And neither are you.

Feeling.

"You know, the funny sort of sadness that creeps over you when you think about the past...." She trails off. How to explain this feeling that language so utterly fails to encapsulate? It's a bubble caught in your throat, a resilient one that chokes and makes you splutter, but doesn't burst. She thinks hard, tries to think fast before her audience loses interest, she can see it waning already. So she does the best she can. "You know..When you think about the past, and then you think about now. It feels like quicksand, like it's not going anywhere and you're sinking in the pointlessness of it all. You want to go back to being a kid, because you remember playing in the neighbourhood park and Feeling Happy. Everything just seemed to go downhill the moment you became conscious of any reality that existed outside of your imagination and the funny games you used to play. How one thing lead to another, and suddenly you found yourself thinking * Mann...I really screwed up, didn't I?*, but it seems to be too late. You resolve never to feel as strongly/passionately/wrecklessly/helplessly about anyone/thing, because it's OhSoWrong. That's what it feels like, yeah."

Feeling. I use that word too much. I like the way it sounds in my head when I say it over and over again.

What's gone is gone, eh?

I don't know who I am anymore now that I know the difference between what I want to do and what I'm supposed to do. I stick to the latter, because doing what I wanted just lead me right into trouble. Sometimes I think I'd like to have that feeling back, but look what it did to me. I suppose I'm better off without it and without you, and it would be stupid to ask "Then why does it feel like something's missing?", because obviously, it takes time to get used to the absence of something/one who's wreaked such havoc in your life while being such an important part of it. It takes one word to make life pause and go on a fast rewind of everysinglething and I've been thinking about it. It makes me feel lost. In a few seconds.

If I say it shouldn't have been this way, that's a lost cause, right?

Now that I'm actually going somewhere, it seems to be a point where nothing is moving. I need to figure it all out in my head. It's not unhappiness, more like being clueless.

Are you listening?


How did we get here, I used to know you so well.
Hahah yes, Paramore.

It's not a rant, it's a state of being=\

It's just rather strange. Being accustomed to a certain feeling for as long as you can recall, and then suddenly, it goes missing. You look for it in dusty corners of the memory, expect it to be buried under some of that mess lying around, that you'd forgotten about. You find piles of rubbish, carry out a huge clean up operation, and still that feeling can't be found. It seems to have disappeared without a trace, and you're left with a new one. A replacement, if you will. A new way to look at the world, at people.

All you say is "Well, I've come a long way, haven't I?".

R.I.P - 02/03/05

You are missed.

Why does life keep on taking me back to my favourite Scrubs quote?
People are bastard coated bastards with bastard filling, and you, are clearly one of them.

Your Ex-lover Is Dead- Stars

God that was strange to see you again
Introduced by a friend of a friend
Smiled and said 'yes I think we've met before'
In that instant it started to pour,
Captured a taxi despite all the rain
We drove in silence across Pont Champlain
And all of the time you thought I was sad
I was trying to remember your name...

This scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin
Tried to reach deep but you couldn't get in
Now you're outside me
You see all the beauty
Repent all your sin

It's nothing but time and a face that you lose
I chose to feel it and you couldn't choose
I'll write you a postcard
I'll send you the news
From a house down the road from real love...

Live through this, and you won't look back...
Live through this, and you won't look back...
Live through this, and you won't look back...

There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave
You were what I wanted
I gave what I gave
I'm not sorry I met you
I'm not sorry it's over
I'm not sorry there's nothing to save

I'm not sorry there's nothing to save...


I love this song. It says so much.

Denature

I wrote this a day after Halloween, which was a horrible, horrible night to have gone through. If there was a Top 10 Mortifying Moments list for my life, it would definitely have made the top 3. October was a horrid month for me, so I was, I guess, kind of out of it at that point. It's funny how you lose your head and don't even realise what you're doing sometimes. So well, I wrote, and then forgot all about it. I was going through my stuff when I saw this:

Implode. OED might have a proper meaning for it, but my definition is: when I find myself doing things, thinking about things and accepting things which I never thought I would. Which I judged people for. And now, it's a constant lack of clarity and good judgement, with only divine intervention saving my sorry ass by a measly shot. Maybe it's all the hurt and the anger, but losing all ideas of moral right and wrong, sticking out my middle finger to the world and whizzing through life always struck me as an incredibly stupid thing to do. And yet, here I am. Open as a trashy tabloid, so people can talk, point fingers, laugh.

I'm giving them something to talk about.

And that something is me. I don't quite comprehend how I manage to do so, but putting myself in situations which invite public humiliation, labelling, gossipping seems to have become my forte somehow. I'm a disaster careening towards a night in jail because I went 150 Mph on a road with a speed limit of 30 Mph, and the cops are catching up to me. They're moving in, and when they do, my facade will fade and I'll be like a deer caught in headlights. When the truck hits, the ground will move from under my feet, the world will take a 360 degree spin and I'll go on a 20 second high before I call it quits and exit, time's up on stage child, move along, move on.

When I'm looked at,and I know I'm being whispered about, smirked at, I know. It's not paranoia. I know because I allow it. So next time you stop and stare, know that I know, since it's because of me that you know. And this doesn't make sense, but neither does anything else at this point. It's just an inborn sense that everyone has, which prevents people from doing things out in the open because well....they'd be judged...yeah. Which I'm choosing to ignore. You might say, fuck judgement and fuck people, but you'll mostly hear it from:

a) Guys who want to fuck you.
b) People who've been screwed over, or have messed around so much they really don't have anything else to say.

So that's where I'm getting my pearls of wisdom from these days.

And why is all this hitting me now?

Because, the realisation I'm better than this resurfaced last night after a particularly embarrassing incident. I wasn't drunk. I wasn't high. I was in my senses. Because even without doing something, it's sick how you can fit into a certain mould at a certain time, and suspend all concepts of reality, what you're used to.

Then why would I deliberately put myself in a situation like that? It was something like having the brakes of your car fail and crashing through your windshield. In my head, that's what I was doing.

I know what I want. Need.

I thought it was all over, I'd move on like that *poof* and it'd be gone. But it's not, and of late, because of it, I've become the epitome of stupidity. There's no one to hold responsible, it's all me, but the longing exists. There's only one thing I want. I'd give up the world for it. It's not a case of grab the stars and moon for you if you asked me to love. It's a plain cry to make someone see how wrenching a right away from something only leads to a place for wrong because the jigsaw doesn't fit any other way. Like when you denature an enzyme, it's permanently gone. Sayonara.

And I just plead to you, don't denature me.

But you're hopeless and helpless. So I blame myself.

Thank you God for saving my ass, and knocking sense into me because of what happened. Please keep saving my ass. Amen.

I hate the feeling of knowing I'm being screwed over and not being able to do anything about it.

Tip-toe out the door
into a cold unfamiliarity
that rivals your own
manner of impersonal conversation
and
easy detachment.

Into a dark
with blurry definition
and
a silver emptiness to
fill in conjured up silences,
they answer questions you'd
rather not ask.

Damaged -Plumb

Dreaming comes so easily
'cause it's all that i've known
True love is a fairy tale
I'm damaged, so how would i know

I'm scared and i'm alone
I'm ashamed
And i need for you to know

I didn't say all the things that i wanted to say
And you can't take back what you've taken away
'cause i feel you, i feel you near me

Healing comes so painfully
And it chills to the bone
Will anyone get close to me?
I'm damaged, as i'm sure you know

Words of Wisdom.

I’ve always maintained that anyone can…
January 27, 2009 by a very smart person

…have a relationship, a partner, a marriage, a fuck. It’s just a question of lowering standards sufficiently.

But then your friends make helpful comments like bless him, he’s really punching above his weight and you realise you have not so much lowered your standards as thrown them in front of a train and watched them explode over you in a surprisingly heavy shower of gore. So when the fucker stops calling, you’re torn between feeling rejected and relieved. I mean, he was ill-educated and the wrong side of average in every possible sense, but shit, even that didn’t want you?

And this is the paragraph with the conclusion. I know what it is, but I can’t be bothered to write it. Imagine a vaguely cloying cliche. Yep. There you go.


From a certain blog which I do not wish to tell peeps about, yeah.^_^

Worsheeeeeep.
And thanks Manifor showing me this gem=D

Haye mein kitnee emo huun.

the sky is grey
the sand is grey
and the ocean is grey

and i feel right at home
in this stunning monochrome
alone in my way

i smoke and i drink
and every time i blink
i have a tiny dream

but as bad as i am
i'm proud of the fact
that i'm worse than i seem

what kind of paradise am i looking for?
i've got everything i want and still i want more
maybe some tiny shiny thing
will wash up on the shore

you walk through my walls
like a ghost on tv
you penetrate me

and my little pink heart
is on its little brown raft
floating out to sea

and what can i say
but i'm wired this way
and you're wired to me

and what can i do
but wallow in you
unintentionally

what kind of paradise am i looking for?
i've got everything i want and still i want more
maybe some tiny shiny key
will wash up on the shore

regretfully
i guess i've only got three
simple things to say:
why me?
why this now?
why this way?

with overtones ringing
undertow抯 pulling away
under a sky that is grey
on sand that is grey
by an ocean that's grey

what kind of paradise am i looking for?
i've got everything i want
and still i want more
maybe some tiny shiny key
will wash up on the shore.

Grey by Ani DiFranco.

URGH.

Feel so blaahed out since the past few days, I think it's all the work.

I feel lost, as in, people actually come upto me and ask me why I look so lost. It's so weird. I didn't think it would be written across my face.=\

A thousand times an hour is torn across
And burned for the sake of going on living. - James K. Baxter

In The Sun by Joseph Arthur <3

Beautiful song=)



I Picture You In The Sun
Wondering
What Went Wrong
And Falling Down On Your Knees
Asking For
Sympathy
And Being Caught In Between
All You Wish For
And All You Seen
And Trying To Find Anything
You Can Feel
That You Can Believe In

May God's Love Be With You
Always
May God's Love Be With You
Always
May God's Love Be With You

I Know I Would Apologize
If I Could
See Your Eyes
'Cause When You Showed Me Myself You Know
I Became
Someone Else
But I Was Caught In Between
All You Wish For And All You Need
I Picture You Fast Asleep
A Nightmare Comes
You Cant Keep Awake

May God's Love Be With You
Always
May God's Love Be With You
Always
May God's Love Be With You
Always
May God's Love Be With You

'Cause If I Find
If I Find My Own Way
How Much Will I Find?
If I Find
If I Find My Own Way
How Much Will I Find?
You

Well I Dont Know Anymore
What Its For
I'm Not Even Sure
If There Is Anyone
Who Is In The Sun
Will You Help Me To Understand?
'Cause I Been Caught In Between
All I Wish For And All I Need
Maybe You're Not Even Sure
What It's For
Anymore Than Me

May God's Love Be With You
Always
May God's Love Be With You
Always
May God's Love Be With You
Always
May God's Love Be With You

'Cause If I Find
If I Find My Own Way
How Much Will I Find?
If I Find
If I Find My Own Way
How Much Will I Find?
'Cause If I Find
If I Find My Own Way
How Much Will I Find?
If I Find
If I Find My Own Way
How Much Will I Find?
You

White light bathes frothy waves crashing into the shore, illuminating a continuing Domino Effect, while the heavens pour out a storm. Pellets of rain like clusters of fireflies under lamps, landing onto the steps leading to sand and water, almost as if you can catch them. In a way, you can, if you let them soak you. Soak, not clean, because rain is no longer pure and who knows, the acid could eat into your body. But stay, stay until it washes the surface, till you feel it is enough. The sea sings notes discordant, made more so by the rain pattering onto concrete, into sand, into water and albescent froth.

The water sings to you.

Pink

So she paints her nails a celebratory candy pink, and shows it off to herself under bright chandelier lights. It's difficult to choose, how to look at it. Under the white light, or yellow-orange. Tough decision, for such a pretty colour. And this is special, it makes her feel like a princess, with liquid cotton candy on her nails. She can't stop looking at it, tear her eyes away from it. It lifts up her spirits. It makes her want to don those rose tinted shades (again) and run around painting the town red, run wild. Clear her mind, and let the colours explode until she feels like the end of a rainbow waiting to be discovered.

She wants to feel happy again. She wants to live in a bubble too.

"It twinkles in the moonlight, you see?" she said, holding her little trinket close to her heart as she pranced around. He looked at her, puzzled, and shook his head.
"But of course," continued she," How should you understand. You've never had one, have you?" carefully testing the water before she dipped her feet into it and sat down next to him.
"I'd share with you, but it's precious, so precious. precious, precious, precious." And all the while, he smiled at her giddiness, upon finding that tiny piece of silver that shone in the moonlight.

The good part of this typhoid thing is, I can sleep through days without really having to wake up.
Except that it's wearing off now.

Rise and shine, welcome back to the nightmare.

"I'm never going to cut you out of my life."

Liar.

And suddenly it's too cold for me to stay anymore. You're too cold.

I will close my eyes and wish upon oblivion.

So, who's going to fill this void?

I hate you.

You forget me.

How could you?

Fairytales.

She holds no inspiration for you with her silly banter of dreams, hopes, the future. It is almost comically infectious, this facade, such a singularly placed focus on a blurry aim. Like lips bitten, bleeding with forced concentration. "The intensity is killing us!" scream out her thoughts as she tries hard, so very hard to shut off every bit of thinking, all the day dreaming that got no one anywhere, because these idiosyncrasies, she realises, were special only to her.

Have always been, because he turned around and away and he is now but a blur on another ocean, another land she only dreams of. And she to him, is as unreal as that which he cannot see through his lens, the lens which captures much in it's sparkling definition and power. But she is not part of that picture, or any other pictures. She will watch with a longing for a time to come, and then gather her determination to announce, eventually, she doesn't need it anymore. That there is nothing to fret over. When there is, there is so much to dwell on. Because that is the habit of the pointless and the daydreamers: they linger, they plan, they watch their sandcastles being washed away and shed seas from their own eyes. And how many times has it been pointed out to them that they will be unsuccessful? That they are counting on that which has no basis in reality? Countless. Still all she thinks of is " but the dreaming never hurt anyone." No, it didn't. But he tired of it, because you cannot take pictures of dreams. You cannot turn them into film. You cannot see them, touch them on a regular basis. And so, it means nothing.

So she takes his nothing, captures it in her box of dreams, and allows it to clean away the nonsense in her head, while he lingers on in her heart, and she asks herself why?

She's waiting for a peculiar looking elf to jump out of nowhere, decked in Vegas neons, shouting "Hey YOU!! I'm hope at the end of a tunnel!!". She'll never learn.

Love Song- Sara Bareilles

Head under water
And you tell me to breathe easy for a while
The breathing gets harder, even I know that
Made room for me but it's too soon to see
If I'm happy in your hands

I'm unusually hard to hold on to
Blank stares at blank pages
No easy way to say this
You mean well, but you make this hard on me
I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you asked for it
'cause you need one, you see

I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you tell me it's
Make or break in this
If you're on your way
I'm not gonna write you to stay
If all you have is leaving I'm gonna need a better
Reason to write you a love song today

I learned the hard way
That they all say things you want to hear
And my heavy heart sinks deep down under you and
Your twisted words,
Your help just hurts
You are not what I thought you were
Hello to high and dry
Convinced me to please you
Made me think that I need this too
I'm trying to let you hear me as I am

I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you asked for it
'cause you need one, you see
I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you tell me it's
Make or break in this
If you're on your way
I'm not gonna write you to stay
If all you have is leaving I'm gonna need a better
Reason to write you a love song today

Promise me that you'll leave the light on
To help me see with daylight, my guide, gone
'cause I believe there's a way you can love me
Because I say
I won't write you a love song
'cause you asked for it
'cause you need one, you see

I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you tell me it's make or break in this
Is that why you wanted a love song
'cause you asked for it
'cause you need one, you see
I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you tell me it's make or break in this
If you're on your way
I'm not gonna write you to stay
If your heart is nowhere in it
I don't want it for a minute
Babe, I'll walk the seven seas when I believe that
There's a reason to
Write you a love song today

*bangs head into wall*
Urgh.

"People are bastard coated bastards with bastard filling." Dr.Cox and Bob Kelso.

We're all selfish selfish selfish.

So I won't pretend to be selfless.

It was nice seeing you.
I'll be missing you.
=)