As the day draws nearer. You feel solemn. More than anything else. Always. Wretched. It dawned on you that the truth is, you have been on a run for the past six years and there is a reason why. The beginning of it all. Why you are never here. It was the perfect excuse to never talk about it ever again. 

This is the analogy a friend said recently. Each of us have closets which we constantly close them and move to the next. However, unlike the fortunate ones who have the leisure to fold and pack everything in nicely, we on the other hand have been in such a chaotic state to throw and fit everything in base on survival instincts, in order to move on to the next. Hence, ours is an exploding junk yard which never had a proper ceremonial closure. It is always there. Always lurking. Unravelling when you least expect it.

The greatest test for the generations to come is patience. 

Remember how we would roll in bed and wait for a simple beep to indicate a text response and then spend the next hour cracking our heads to draft a message good enough to be finally sent out again. Because we know how critical it is to use the minimal number of letters to form words in order to catch that person's attention and interest so that they would respond to us and not keep us hanging. Individual text messages would be stored and fondly relooked at while waiting for the next reply. It was so precious. The whole waiting process even felt romantic. 

We were handicapped. Unable to check to see if the recipient had received the message or if it was intentionally left unread. No photographs. No directions. No maps. No phone calls. And I have yet to even start on the generations before who relied solely on pen, paper, stamps, birds and humans. 

Therefore, in the years to come the greatest challenge of all is patience. 

Be careful in the words that you say to each other. What comes out as spite could do damage that last a life time.

Maybe it was their upbringing and the skewed tunnel vision they are brought up to view situations and treat other human beings. You cannot deny that nurturing a child is crucial in their adolescence stage as it could tarnish their adulthood. Their nature is largely attributed to their nurture. Akin to a robot the programmer is the one that inputs the data for it to function.  

You need to breathe life into words again. Let them form and take hold of your page. I forget sometimes the need to leave a little of me online in this virtual world. 

It is a trend. There are too many scams out there offering you opportunities to jump onboard their easy way out solutions. The price? Your money. How about the media? It distracts you with fancy new things or news and all we end up doing is feeding this Monster with an insatiable appetite. 

Quote: Always online but never available. 

But the real price, is your time. 

And. Falling into the pit of selfishness. "Me" mentality syndrome. 

After one month, once a week, of giving away time to volunteering works, I won't say they need me. But rather I need them more than they need me. It made me grounded to the here and now. For a moment I am offline, doing something meaningful for someone else. 

It is always nice to know that in the sea of people there is one person out there waiting for you. Anxiously looking out, even if it is just a shadow or outline. Traces of you in the crowd is good enough to give the heart a little kick of thrill and joy.  

Quick... become the arrival I have been waiting for. 

It will no longer hurt or excite you. Those intangible hopes and foolish fantasies on your part. Be brutal to say that you were thrilled by your selfish thoughts. 

Turning around you cringe at the past, you look at the path leading to ashes and then ahead of you the path into the light. 

Another trigger point are past words written and left in closets of technology. You enter it door after door and there the horrible bare faced- truth; hides there waiting to expose your stupidity. But that is not the end.

You are standing here. Bidding goodbye. 

Unable to grasp this scene. You turn a page and it had been nine years. No longer that girl on the floor nor walking the streets at midnight courting rejection. You find yourself catching this bus at peace with yourself and the way things are now. 

It is frightening to see that you no longer write the same. 

They call you another name. 

In just a week they broke down walls and made a new passage through. Your memories are altered from what they actually were; the night stroll seem more romantic, the grass felt softer, the sun looked warmer and the atmosphere seem light hearted. 

Was it all in your head? Because your body was waiting to return to this routine. It knows that it felt right here as everything has changed there. 

You are not the same. 

And it is not a bad thing. 

I finished another book today. 

I flipped back to be sure that I was done with it. 

And now I look forward to another book, a new story and a different ending. 

I walked on to a new adventure just like I always do. And I cannot wait to see what awaits on this new page. The fact that I will always be the author makes this whole chase enticing. 

Another door slams

Another tear drop

The same defeat and defense 

You didn't know it was too much

You didn't know it was enough 

You find yourself hiding under covers 

Writing

Again to yourself

To write it out

So that it won't be too much

And that it would be enough

Just for tonight 

No one knows 

All you needed to do was to take the next step. Put down that bag. Unexpecting anything. 

And there at your door step you felt the first wave of forgiveness and understanding. 

It will be ok. Somehow. 

Difficult it is to go through the day where everything and everyone is a challenge and battle. They demand to be heard and answered. The tears of yesterday still lingers on the lines of your face and the remains hides behind your lids temporarily, ever ready to fall. The word of thanks no longer leaves an imprint. And the weight on your shoulders have left you on the floor. 

The same blank notification is silent and neglecting. It resounds the fact that you are forgotten and one sided all along. 

Why do you feel insignificant, standing facing the wind alone.

Often damages made are by unthought words being said. 

Saying "sorry" merely sends the message to the mind. 

But the heart refuses to listen and clutches on the gapping knife pierced hole with feeble attempt to stop the bleeding and suffocating feeling of hurt. 

It is less rationale and much more fragile than the mind. 

To repair or soothe the heart means attempting to restore that level of trust again, strong enough to withstand another blow most often by you.