"Is it normal to feel this exhausted all the time?" 

Say you are awake 16 hours and you only get 7-8 hours of sleep (or less) per day, mathematically speaking it does not sound unreasonable to be exhausted. 

Every action or movement we take we are burning away. A constant loss in exhaustion. A constant loss in living. So make it count. 

My last thoughts to end the year. 

Afraid. To be scrolling life away. Passing by these fences, within lies a probability. Have you missed the signs or misinterpreted them? Roll the dice and let them fall, move your piece. In sliding doors this would had two scenes playing out consecutively. Which is like you? Is there nothing after? 

That is how our generation sends out a flare of distress. A shot into cyber space to vent the unmindful ever wicked carousel of thanklessness. Could the weight of our efforts be satisfied with the mere click of an icon or comment? Are we all just looking out to scratch a mark on the surface of existence so that anyone who could recognize the need of that recognition would pause and give away two seconds of their life. To like. Or comment. A job well done. 

Desperate times. Desperate. 

All you needed was one set of undisturbed footprints. That is the hour you knew that a section of the structure has just experienced its first tremor and change. It was subtle yet brutal. Maybe that is how buildings fall apart. They get stripped by layers and then collapses inwards. It knew. 

When you stand alone, do you feel a little more brave? 

They will always kill the messenger. 

A thankless job this is. 

The remnants of yesterday lingers. It is a gapping hole that refuses to be denied of its existence. Patiently in the shadows it sinks it's teeth into your vulnerability to remind you the demage accompanied by the phantom scar where you frequently run your fingers across to feel the uneven edges. Defeated. Why not, not. You must feel the whole pendulum of the equation to know what is missing. 

"He finds a lot of wrong pieces. Then he finds the right piece. But then he leaves it behind. Then it ends." 

I have read and found myself dying all over again. Leaving a mark. 

Layers. You were a layer. And the many you's to come. Playing a single track while adding in the rest of the instruments piece by piece. How we recorded it all in a storeroom, that process was already learnt. The only change you could possibly make is to re-record over it until it satisfies. 

We are the victims of our own sloth, putting off the things that meant everything and yet they became nothing. You were the best memory. The early mornings, disheveled hair, pencil marks on paper, endless matching of words, going at it again and again till it fits. A kind of peace that descends once it is complete. 

"I remember the day that saved us. 

Do you remember this. 

This is never goodbye."

-Juliet Simms 

"I have written over it. I have recorded on top of it. I have reprinted it. Life is layers, fluid, unfixed, fragments." J.W 

I've not forgotten. This is where I started; creating stories out of moments and scripts out of memories. That is how we move on. You stop. Write. And go. 

When you decided on something, it takes you to places that you were not prepared for. You adapt and make required changes to be and live. Conditions are less backwards now. Despite the increasingly intricate compulsion to sustain this frontage. 

Candidness will not prevail this time. 

Unspoken friction for each new conquest.. A touch of seriousness, a chemical magnetism, the way two pieces of a child's puzzle fit together. The normal prelude. 

We started as pixies and in time we become human. Within a small space seated in shadows who would have thought it could change the present windows. If we hadn't allowed our feet to take us to places. Fingers with their whimsical fancy. Which doors would you had missed and entered, wide eyed and waiting.      

You

In the break of dawn, i watch the bus give chase to an empty train.

You learn to look at signboards as places where people come together.

There shouldn't be casualties in the pursuit of space.

It all boils down to gestures. A slide and hit regime. And that is how we end each day by sending it across time, erasing it from the present, double checking that no ghost remains. With the final touch of placing it in invisible folders that is not threatened by moth or dust. It is an act to be less because you are nothing but helpless.

When you start making every scene yours by conceptualizing it into words, you are made vulnerable. Because you are well aware of the blurring lines of your emotions and the character of each sentences are the source of your pain. You find yourself lingering on the same page and song, it is hard to let it pass. Not today at least.

For to write, it is to hurt tragically.

Could a crack be so silent
Those notes are all I gave to you for company
I watch my shadows chasing shadows
As I finally broke down at the top of an empty hill with no soul
Alone I sit unable to let this song pass
Like a mantra trying to convince yourself that this is the last time and you will quit this
Concern became suffocating and breathing impatient
How did you get here under this starry sky
Knees to the ground
Hands on wood

Delicate thread that holds these cards
Tighter they stand with each knot and pull
So we threw darts at walls to watch them fall
Credulously you thought this game would be your call
Funny how those wicked intentions found its own replay when you shut your eyes wanting more
Intentionally you let it run in loops unable to let it resume
You knew it was not enough for you to be on your way

She said you became a drug at my expense. So I thought the day would end without a chance of that occurrence at the abyss. It was like today, as I waited for the morning storm to come, the leaf twirling its last dance to the ground and all I wanted was a fraction of a second to what that sparrow felt as it halt in mid air. I forced my lungs to take in air and my legs to synchronize, even if it hurts I won't allow myself to remain at this same spot. Like how you beat at your chest to spread the pain and clutch your fist waiting for this episode to subside.

Do we all look at her the same way? With questioning eyes and unkind thoughts? So fragile and thin with only enough skin to cover bones, neither elegant or graceful, just awkward and peculiar. It was the same path to everyone but eminently laborious for her. Bravely she runs on and I solemnly watch her silhouette.

"Every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it's really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and that excitement at about a million miles an hour."

"I can’t live here
In my body, I mean
I can’t live in my body all the time it feels too much
So if I ever feel far away know I am not gone
I am just underneath my grief
Adjusting the dial on my radio face so I can take this life with all of it’s love and all of it’s loss"

Silently you carved a box out of the remaining block of wood you have. Making sure the edges are even out you measured the depth again just to be sure that it will hold all your contents. Yes, a time capsule it will be, to be buried in the earth, away from the sun till it is time to be uncovered. Fondly you stroke each artifacts and said your goodbye. "I can't look at you now. Not now. So I will see you then." Driving this distance it only had been hours, passing this location it only had been weeks. All this too shall pass.

So I picture it to be this way. Subtle and clean as I start with the first brush on this portrait, a bold strong stroke is the first release. These lines are so fine, so much so that I catch my myself holding my breath, gently, not to shake or shiver so they wouldn't know the intensity of all that was held back to produce this piece you tenderly call art.

"Dance my pain away."

I like how the bus water the plants along the sidewalks especially when it rains. Intentionally accidental. I smell the rain and watch as they take cover, yes, today is Wednesday. It has been days and you wonder has anything changed with absence. The graves points in my direction and I feel death for a brief moment. Pranks; surprises and revelations of many layers, a twisted mash up of seriousness and anticipation disguised in fits of laughter. That is what we do best.

Will they call you mechanistic or organismic? Which is it that makes up your structure? What if we are designed like that.

We find ourselves stuck at this round about. Waiting. This moment. Right here and now... It is familiar. That's how everything started. With words. And ended with words.

I should do the same.

You recognized this fear. The glass walls are temporary, you know what they were built for. The first shatter is the loudest and the rest is just noise. We struggle with humanity and religion, always second guessing. In a perfect world, all of us would not be here and memories would not hurt. It has been awhile since your honesty is questioned.

Necessary interests in the common good. She said.

It felt effortless. The anticipation of watching if it can commend. How much strain to exert and draw. Vaguely those familiar moments before the kill as the adrenaline tugs at your heart strings telling you that it is the causation of this direction and theory. Yes, now it did sting. Who could know what time could show.   

And I was trying to disappear... 

But.  

You are still the song on my breath...

You are not easy to forget. 

Things happened, leading to precautions, hence, the inconveniences. It takes an accident to evoke a change striking everyone in its path.

Three minutes before time shaken awake... The present eagerly pushes ahead with no signs of slowing down. Thoughts of yesterday still lingers as one self gradually ends.

Her last words etched in memory; Necessity is the mother of change.

It is no longer the same. Something just clicks from within and you could match the similarities in frames. It did not go well with your fantasy. Maybe I am the ghost that lingers on your page, but what difference will it make in knowing? I have nothing for you to take nor give.

How long can I travel like this? Empty trains on cold mornings, faces plastered on with little warmth.

That great urge to embrace you, the compassion to reach out to you to tell you... You are not permanent.

You laid your traps around, waiting with sweet anticipation for me to taste and see each possibility. Gently stroking my fire, drawing me into your flame. When the walls finally gave in, you took a step back and watch as I free fall for you. Turning your back, you threw the keys into the crypt and never came back.

You will make a way. Through the tears and joy, I will trust in you. Even without forming sentences you already know. Somehow everything will lead me back, I could wander the world and yet be back to where I started that is to be here with you. Even on this bus ride you could bring me to tears.. So hold onto my heart and don't let me go. Love me for the imperfect soul that I am.

Guilty. Of over thinking. It is not all about you and what you do not have. Even with a piece of cloth we can go on living. By believing in truth and love, that took the world so far. In order to save a stubborn men, with that reason alone could stir this mad mad world to stop and lay down. In just three hours... Everything changed.

The most damaged people are the wisest. After discovering the threshold of our souls, there is really nothing more to surprise. We measured the furthest distance in life and it was death. Initially we thought it was marriage but reality speaks volumes of separation. So you never really loose someone as long as you don't forget them... If you wanted in, there will always be an invisible thread leading back. I'm glad your reading.

I hope to read about you to the extend that when this page refreshes your words will magically appear. But you stopped. It feels like it has become a one sided routine. This ride is long and dark... I stare out into the sleeping world.. I am still here.

A strange impending feeling of a change that could cause a tremendous rippling effect again. Like you know... You are going to hurt someone and yourself again.

When the books leave me, will I leave with them too?

To be unhearted all over again. I fear.

I've strayed too far away from your light. Not by my strength.

Your first sentences were never about me, just you and your demands. Funny... I always knew that death was a bonus. The exhaustion is seeping into the bones and breaking out onto the flesh.

These lines... I wonder.

How do you give up something that is good for you? Just for the norm or to please someone else's idea of a life? You can't just quit and start over in a snap. There is no witch hunt to find the cause but how it was allowed to happen in the eyes of the maker. If it was bound to fail it would had. If you were meant to crash and burn you already would. Keep walking. One day. It will all make sense.

I chose to believe that you were right and I was saving you from hell. Giving all that you need and desired to feel better. Everything stopped making sense and all I could do was give. Even when things were cast in stone and you will never be mine, I created a space for you to come back. Maybe the idea of holding onto this last line of connection could justify that you need me still. Maybe when I have read enough of your lies and pain could I tell myself that this is enough. You are not allowed nor entitled to move on before I do.

Do you remember I searched you out
How I climbed your city’s walls
Do you remember me as devout
How I prayed for your calls
I stood still, it's what I did
Love like ours just never fits
I stuck around
I did behave
I saved you every time
I was a fool for love
I was a fool
Then you blame me and block me out
How long did you think I’d last
Then you disappeared for weeks to pout
How many times could I pack
If you’re worried that I might've changed
Left behind all of my foolish ways
You best be looking for somebody else
Without a foolish heart
A foolish heart
But stand still is all we did
Love like ours just never fits.

It is always darker before the dark. I followed you in and was left behind. You traced circles around me to justify your failed reality, so what we did was wasting time. There were others that bought your story and gave you options. All you needed was an excuse, a proxy for your release. I leaned in closer to the flame and laid down on the ground. You didn't come back for me. 

It is here that we pretend nothing happened. 

I was your vindication. 

Scratching the surface of paper, staring at the screen in front of me. I'm hollow. Pathetic. Really. Replaying each scenes in my head just to let you linger, replacing sentences or trying to catch a glimpse of signs I had missed. What had I done wrong. Why didn't you choose me. Want me. Pick me. It was you and me against the world. Now, I am just out of your world. A shadow that you seek to look behind from afar time to time. How could you ask that of me.

Texting on a night like this when your body is next to another and maybe underneath yours in a second. Does it make sense when your telling me not to reply? Stop. What is left that you have yet to break? No. I will not give you that privilege.

You are a sin to respond.

Your picture sealed reality forever. Lies. You are made up of. Should I say congratulations now? For the part you have played so absolutely well, amazing performance of being the victim. But you forgot to bury a body in your backyard, I can see her standing at your windows walking in circles. I guess running someone down with your car is forgivable nowadays.

No, it was not your fault. I was too sincere.

You didn't tell me you were leaving when I left. So you waited when I was thousand miles away from you before you departed. How do I move on from here? Even with her by my side I know she is not staying, unlike you. It was my excuse to say that I was accompanying you for dinners, but it was me who needed your company the most. I spoke freely and laughed harder with you and my weekends are no longer the same. I sit in your empty house, a desolate shell, I don't feel you here. Staring at an empty space I see our ghosts playing out a familiar scene. You have gone to a place that I can no longer follow. At least, let me dream of you. One more time. I miss you.

Never mix business with pleasure. This statement haunts me every time. I had taken a barrel of oil, poured it over every score sheet, floor, heart, fingers, beliefs, hope and instrument. With a match I set everything ablaze, collected every fragments and placed my ash into an urn.

How do I begin again. I can no longer speak or write the same way. Stay up late with a pencil, paper, inspiration... Give it back. Everything. I want it back.

Don't get me wrong. Your no longer mine, just like a disease that I want nothing to do with. The clicks will get lesser and you will be washed out from all the gaps.

Haven't I told you before we started pain makes people change and look what you've done, I'm changing again. You never knew what you want, when all I wanted was you.

Do you know what is cruel?

Standing in the crowd staring at flags, clutching fist, holding tears. Gripping the wheel in an empty car that will never carry your scent. Heart flinching when I pass a familiar place, hand reaching for heart to hold it in. Breathing yet suffocating as the lungs refuse to believe its inhaling, hammering at my chest to take in air.

I will. Quit you.

What you don't know won't hurt you.

The times I've clicked and searched your name just to get a glimpse of life without me. All that was said and done, in the car where we spent the last hours of our push and pulls, you didn't fight for me.

Was it not worth your while or have I been taken for a ride. Head against the pillow, my body is brutally bruised and in shock. I choke and gasp demanding myself to recover. I shake and shiver. It's burning hot but I'm cold and dying. Heart in hand, free falls and hits the ground.

You. My murderer.

Sitting in the dark I looked out into the sleeping world. This will become a part of me from hereon, in the break of dawn.

No longer seeking out a face, yes you hungry eyes, nor dancing in circles in the crowded room, nor sweet intoxication of smoke and sound... I have walked out the back door of that life and never looked back since.

And now, I walk on into another life.

For a brief moment, their hands met and it all felt so familiar. She rushes in for the embrace... And it was gone.

You have gone to a place where I can no longer see.

Parallel universe. In another life.

There were instances when all questions seemed like windows but then again not so.

The speed of change is taking its spin again.

Strip those titles and lay them down. It is peaceful at this level, no one sees nor expects all the could be.

He walks through the stares of the everyday without taking a glimpse at the mirror. The reflection would be much more excruciating than the damage itself. It will put you to shame and diminish every tribulation. His weight lies on his cheeks, what we bear pales in comparison.

Turn your grief to grace.

Realization; Scrolling down those snippets, getting glimpse of what life is, who they have become and who stands by them. Packed belongings misplaced on foreign grounds.

If everything had a tag and each tag had a date.

We would prepare.
To expire.

You fought the space between your ears to believe that.

Please forget.

Dreaming of butterflies or did they dreamt of you. Beautiful red flutter into a portrait.

A whole stream of questions and answers, is there a need to gather for that script?

Life robs and gives. What you thought was the end of the line wasn't worth to be drawn. Things just happens the way they have to, it is impolite in nature and unexpected like the wind.

It's not the end.

She wonders through the hallways which echoes her laughter of freedom and secrets.

Collecting names and setting fires to our insides.

They lined up in straight lines, gathered at the entrance knowing that this is goodbye. Didn't they whisper into your ears before you walked through the gates?

You never come back from that goodbye.

Let me run before the rain begins. The only time you hear yourself clearly, out of breath.

Trying to imagine life without school, trying to recall what was our last conversation and words...

Maybe in the lapse of oxygen to the head I will remember.

This is the first post into the new year. Remembering life in death.