You thought those won’t be triggers anymore. 

You thought it won’t hurt anymore. 

But it does. 

And today. You’re not ok. 

How could you think; you of all people had sacrificed and done it all? 

You who had your hands on my neck. 

Some days. 

Like today. 

I feel submerged under water. 

And I can’t breathe. 

Or maybe it has been like this for the longest time. I can’t seem to get out of this spiral this time round. 

 Do you know what hurts? 

When you ask for things like a mandate. 

Leaving no room for discussion and your needs demanded to be met. Regardless of my input or questions. Questions that came from a place of brainstorming for solutions.  

Maybe you weren’t taught. 

But you always have a way to show hospitality to strangers and their conveniences over mine. 

The only calls I get from you are self serving. Never about my wellbeing but yours. 

My prayer? 

To be loved by you. 

And not be your consolation. 

 I used to write songs.

But they were prices I paid in my human attempt to seal a little piece of me in time. Like Voldemort. I get why he did what he did. 

Even if I do not fully understand it now of what it was that I was trying so hard to keep. A reminder of a scar in time that I had lived. 

 If I was brought back to 2013, what would I want to flip? I couldn't bring forward an event that I wanted you there. I wouldn't be able to save you or keep you here longer. What could I change? 

Recently, we talked about time travelling.

Would I want to be 7 again or would I want to know how and when I die. 

If I cannot control the uncertainties or deviances going back to 7 and if any change in my decision might remove the chance of meeting you then I rather not risk it at all. Now that I am older, I believe things that were bound to happen will, it cannot be avoided or delayed too long, it will hit the same spot in time again. 

So, no. I do not believe that I can survive it all again. I choose to know when and how I will go. 

 

It’s the first time I missed a year. 2023.

I’m still here. 

The recent health scare shook me. 

For the first time in a long while, I felt the long shadows of death looming close behind. 

I thought this is it. This is how I will go. Cancer. 

And suddenly wanting to live was the only thing I wanted. More time. I wanted more time. To do all the to do’s, I will do it later, next year, or the following, next time; all those invisible list we earmarked for the future. But why and how were we so certain that THAT future consist of us still being there? 

What audacity. 

What a fool. 

This year. Today. Now. I’m doing them now. 

I think a lot of people have forgotten their words they left behind on the web 

Little spaces they created, sometimes revealing too much of themselves or too little

I found links to cyber tombstones where there are no virtual flowers for me to leave behind

Maybe my visit will leave a ping in their stat 

Suddenly 2008 seems so far away now 

Rewatching shows from the past triggers many childish decisions and statements made  

But it was the only coping mechanism available with the limited resources on hand I had to deal the best way I know how 

Everyone was using something or someone, because youth is wasted on the young and we were all lonely in the real world. 

Reborn again 

If that was possible 

I would take on those roles and immerse all emotions and physical body into that art 

With each script who I am changes 

Creating behaviours and moments to fit the character 

Would I have met a stunning piece and be blown by their charisma 

Would then the lines be blurred 

And you fall into a dangerous credit 

How I wish I could reach out and be different from the 10 million

Thinking that you would reach back 

And maybe have a conversation while laughing over a bottle 

Then the day ends and we are back practising for the next scene 

During the readings, with blood rush into cheeks moments because of the night before you wait for the next encounter to lap up the electrifying tension 

 Songs are personal to the writer

They tell their truth 

Each string of sentence 

Without revealing names and detailed plots 

You only get the hits and misses 

Scratching the surface of pure speculation 

But you don’t know exactly who or what they are referring to when they wrote what they did 

The whys 

You will never know