everything that i want to say bubbles up under the surface but once i try to gather them, they turn into an incoherent mess. someday it may all burst out from my chest, but who would bear its weight? so i gulp down the words, that keep growing bigger and bigger with each passing day and form a knot in my throat. day? i don't even know what day it is anymore i can't tell one from another yesterday, today, tomorrow – they all blur into one like an anchorless ship, time is an endless sea, where living feels more like treading water, wouldn't it be easier to just drown? i, who is nothing, could just drown into nothingness, but zero added to zero is still zero how would that make any difference?
If you were here, we could have just laid in bed all day, and watched anime. If you were here, we could have danced to our favourite songs even though we know very well that we are both terrible dancers; yet no matter how unsynced our dance would be, our hearts would beat in sync.
If you were here, I'd hold your hand so tight, intertwine our pinkies, and promise to never let go. We'd take walks holding hands. Whether filled with your sweet rambling, perhaps even as deep as your eyes, perhaps even silence as solacing as your touch, it wouldn't matter.
You are here, right in front of me, but seperated by our phone screens. You're just a touch away, yet so far away.
The thought of holding your hand only virtually terrifies me. The fact that I have only my heart felt words to offer you when there are tears running down your cheeks, and not my embrace as I let you cry on my shoulder, crying alongside with you, as we'd wipe eachother's tears later on. It fills me with a hollowness so deep no one else can fill.
If you were here, I'd just have to look straight into your eyes to know how genuine your feelings are; but here we are, sending heart emojis to eachother that perhaps hold the same meaning.
You're here, albeit virtually I still hope that we will meet one day. Those heart emojis turning into hugs, stickers into a comforting silence, likes into love and our texts into real life conversations. Perhaps even tears, as we'd hold eachother, seeking the warmth of eachother's presence; if you were here.
····· i remember writing this last year for my best friend.. i thought i liked her, and i still think i do. i don't wanna feel this way, it's not gonna be good for me:/ anyways, i thought of sharing this, idk why.. good night :))
these days, it is very normal sharing your spotify playlists with eachother, it is very casual to give music recommendations, because music is made in order to be shared, i know. but am i the only one who doesn't like giving away my playlist? the song that kept me grounded during times when i felt like dying the song that resonates with me so deeply, like it was made just for me the song that reflects how melancholic i feel, like i'm looking at my own reflection in the mirror the song with lyrics so beautiful and poetic that i memorized each line by heart the song that is a constant source of reassurance, that i'm not alone the song that is healing and comforting, the song in which i willfully drown, to explore its depths – but instead, i'm being saved the song that feels like a warm hug during the most coldest nights the song that sounds just like my own thoughts, converted into a beautiful melody the song that feels like coming back home every time i listen to it the song that claimed me from the very first second because it wanted home – these are songs. if i were to reveal these to others, wouldn't that make me vulnerable? i don't want to put my heart out in the open – these masterpieces that are so intricately knotted with my heartstrings, to be displayed in the museum for the bypassers to judge. most days, i am a museum of things i want to forget but this is something that i want to keep with me for as long as time permits. that's why i close my eyes, trying to retain every word, every melody, every memory that was whispered only for and i let it flow down my veins like a river into my very core. this music that i listen to every night, sounds softly desperate like a like a to be and i recognize it because it is the sound of my own mind. when it ends, i can feel its magic – of finding something so arbitrary that it hits the deepest pits of my soul, and brings out the most obscure feelings that i, myself could never explain, but someone else could. that's why my eyes remain closed, wishing this would never end, and that these songs that i don't mind playing on repeat, could stay with me for a little longer.
2020, a year that sneered at our expectations of it being special – the end of a decade, did feel like the end of the world, in a way. it doesn't really make any sense as i mindlessly dwell on it, but the world in which we presently live, even the most nonsensical things make sense.
even so, the world endlessly spinned as time continued to tick the neverending month of march changed to january – the world seemingly stopped in its axis, yet four seasons passed, so shall four more.
we survived, sending this year off that we'd never think we could survive – waiting for a spring that doesn't seem to arrive; will there even be a spring? a real spring that feels like spring rather than an eternal winter.
our hearts became distant as we locked ourselves in the confines of our rooms; but no matter what i do, i can't shake off the lonliness that latches onto me so tightly. who am i to blame but this world that stopped? yet time still continues to run somehow, without a stop.
a new normal that i am so used to now, yet i feel no semblance of normalcy. the threshold of feeling okay has now hit rock bottom crumbling into dust. aren't we all just specs of dust anyway? trying our best to float in order to survive – be it in any form. yet how is it that i feel like i'm only floating in nothingness – barely afloat?
are we nothing more than recycled tragedy? because it definitely seems like it. but even the things that seemed so definate, appear to be so dream-like now.
the sunset hangs from the leaves as 2020 leaves, and i let out sigh behind my stiffling mask that i long to throw away – hoping to look up at the sky for the first time since the world stopped, and not the ceiling of my enclosed room.
in the midst of what we lost to this pandemic – from our summer to ourselves this damned year did teach us a lot of lessons (how we could have cherished what we neglected back then – how precious they seem now) but well, hope it isn't too late by the time we realize them.
to the nightmarish year, we finally bid goodbye. the hope of a spring that really feels like spring this time, blooming in my chest – i hope it doesn't wither in the seamless cold.
The pieces of moonlight dotted along the canvas inside my mind, reflect the vast stretch of the forest that i paint. Amidst those pieces i seek to find my own obliterated pieces, trying to make peace with them.
as the dawn approaches – within its' lateral space, is where i find myself aimlessly running around in the wilderness, wherever my feet takes me – down every lane even the lurking shadows shy away from for there's no light here it's all bathed in ash from the burnt remains of my past.
a distant bird sings bringing the red morning closer and closer and i hide behind the trees in shade where i used to let others rest by trying too hard to be altruistic.
my heart now gleams silver, like confetti in broad day light, isn't it high time, to be a little self-altruistic? for this is all i have – this realm in my mind wandering aimlessly amidst my thoughts I can't name
all this while i only faught those non-identical emotions only to end up even more conflicted. it's high time that i choose to fly, albeit the heat being as scalding as ever, maybe i'll make peace with the sunlight too, as i did with the moonlight.
i wake up knowing that everyday is the same – today is just an extension of yesterday and tomorrow will be the same, too. everyday i wake up feeling like i'm lacking filling up the empty spaces between my ribs; then how is it that i'm lacking? how is it that i'm not enough? when this profound feeling is all i'm left with, gaping with melancholy. melancholy? i don't even know why i feel so melancholic do i even feel melancholic? or have i just become numb? i don't know. what i do know is that my reflection that stares back at me (oh so pitifully) only bores my colours; & . perhaps it isn't melancholy or perhaps it is, i don't know. all i know is that the areas of uncertainty that i tread on seems like my path to take. it rains here, and i dance to the metronome that ticks away with the chants of "you're not enough, you will never be" like a deafening monotone that rings in my ears – and i lay fallen on this barren land letting the rain drench me in its gloom. – that's me under the sky of : : reddish hues of the setting sun painting me purple that's how you enter my life as you reach out your hand to me (my cold hands) words that you whisper into the twilight sky blown by the wind that carries your words like a reassuring whisper to whoever needs it the most. right now, that person is me. perhaps your words "you are enough, i believe in you" can be my new metronome that i dance to. but i'm not the only one who's suffering, am i? because when i look at you, you seem the same as me – but here we are, sharing our lowest moments together through the music that you make – we find each other. as this song ends, a new song begins and with that, a flickering hope of a new tomorrow sets my heart aflame. is this why i listen to y song with my eyes closed? wishing this wouldn't end; because like i said, these areas are comfortable while we're nothing but .
When you are stuck choosing between loving blue or pink more, you cannot help but wonder why purple is not an option.
Perhaps it is because purple is the colour that melds the two together; the one that is neither composed more of one nor the other.
Perhaps it is because it is the one that strangles me, grabs me by the throat and throws me against the wall until my skin is laced with its beautiful tone. It beats me senseless until I am no longer aware of who I was before, nor am I willing to remain in its grasp.
For this, I will be pressured to choose either pink or blue.
It is the colour that symbolizes being ostracized for picking one over the other whilst providing you with no other option. However, will you pick pink to fit in or blue to gain yourself privilege?
When you come out to people and they tell you that, “You don’t look ***. Are you sure?” “You are just curious. You’ll get over it.” “Wait? So you are actually ***?” The fear lies within the lack of answer to any of their questions, and the absence of a ****** expression to ease their fears, wonders and concerns. I will cover the purple that I once displayed with pride to diminish the need for any further questioning.
When you need to decide between bringing a boy home who is a different image of “perfect” than what your parents envisioned and therefore only rewards the two of you to a dinner of questions, shifty eyes and ridicule for simply trying to love and bringing a girl home which warrants you to sit on the floor like a dog at Christmas dinner whilst begging for approval only to result in you trying to convince them that she is only your friend.
Loving pink is making phone calls from miles away, phone calls whose minutes get tracked and questioned.
“Are you sure that you are nothing more than friends?” They ask with such trepidation in their voices that I cannot help but wonder what would happen if I told them the truth.
Loving blue is never being trusted to do the right thing with your own body, to be questioned with every decision whilst he is picked apart, chewed up and spit out.
“He’s not rich enough. How will he sustain the way that you live?” The words obviously mean to be jokes but I am not laughing. I never will laugh.
“Well, you were straight a week ago. What happened?” “I thought you had a girlfriend. Are you straight again? I knew that it was a phase.” Loving pink and blue is hard when you know that you will always be torn apart for trying to love.
Purple is struggle, disbelief, invalidity, distrust and marginalization. Lucky for me, it is my favourite colour. #Bisexual