distanceI

Backpack's still soaked, but I grabbed it anyways.

The other bed's empty, I suppose I'm late again.

Ran out into the rain, I believe that I could still make it. I tasted the rain, it seemed to be reminding that I should at least grab something to eat in the morning. Just like what she would have done. Just like what she would have told me.

The clouds seem to be in a odd mood today. It's quite dark but then there's a hint of sunlight somewhere in there. I wonder if I can ever be like them. She would like that.

I should have brought an umbrella. She wouldn't like this.

Running didn't make that much of a difference in the rain; it still took a good 15 mins for me to get to the first class.

I didn't want to go, but I should if I want to keep up with work and all that. Backpack got more soaked, and so did everything in there. The four corners of my notebook changed color, and I decided to go with pencil since my pens pretty much all exploded. Classes went as usual. Someone mentioned something about souls. I left for the library.

I walked with a friend with an umbrella. My breathing felt more settled--not from the running but from knowing that she'd want me to stay dry. She wouldn't want me to catch it like she did. But hey, how's the view up there? I bet it beats the hell of out mine down here.

I stuffed myself on the higher floors, in one of those less comfortable chairs, so I could concentrate on my thesis. I look out the window and saw the rain drops.

It still feels like it happened yesterday.

Why did you run out in the rain and didn't come back? I was too late. I'm sorry.

I looked at the date. It's been 2 years. Come on. Snap out of this.

I rested my head on my left arm and felt the texture of the desk. We were here two years ago, remember?

I closed my eyes. I started to doze off.

Some words became to form on the desk, stroke by stroke. They seem to be written in white-out or chalk.

"It's Hannah"

Something felt different. It's Hannah. Wait, what? Those words...is that her? I snapped out of sleepiness and unzipped the front pouch in the backpack, looking for my white-out. Damn I swear it felt like forever to find it. I wrote under her words:

I miss you, where are you?

I waited. I wanted to see her smile, to hear her laugh, just, her. Slowly, words became to form again, stroke by stroke, letter by letter. I could hear my breathing, my heart beat. All the memories hit me like rain.

"I love you"

I know you do, Hannah, please, where are you?

"Do you love me?"

I started to write. I scribbled hard on the desk. Nothing came out. I panicked. Please, not now, don't let my white-out run out. Please no. Please. I started shaking the white-out pen as hard as I could. I could feel that my tears are coming out instead of the white-out. I ended up stabbed the pen on the desk, and spots of white-out would come out.

I didn't know what to do. I ended up writing her a dotted heart.

She didn't reply.

seatbelt sign

"If you start out depressed everything's kind of a pleasant surprise"

Sadly, that struck me quite hard. But it's...so true. It is. The little pleasant surprises that you find in everything...hey heart, don't cringe...

Does it feel like being afraid of flying? Like, you feel all these rumbles and elevation changes and everything that you can only feel but have no control over, or do you know what is going on. All you know is that you are going up, that life is happening.

I'm still waiting for the seatbelt sign to disappear too.

 

oyasumi.

-l.h-

 

away

I can't even begin to imagine what was going through his mind. I mean, just...something made him breathe. He, somehow, had to breathe. There was some reason that he didn't know, even though there is really no reason to live. Fate wouldn't even allow him dead. "I had power over nothing." I can't even imagine. He was virtually dead for four years. From the world, just away, gone. He lost everything, and no reason to live. He gave up completely. But he continued breathing. He kept breathing.

And then, in a flash, by chance, he once again saw what he lost. It wasn't even not taking anything for granted, but just...the fact that all the things in the world--those he treasured and those that he did not--all slapped him in the face all at the same time. Reality became unrealistic; it became so fake because it felt like you found another reality, and that reality just changed you so much.

What does that feel like?

He kept breathing.

What does it feel to have everything you ever wanted or needed at your disposal?

The only thing he thought he had control over was how and where he dies.

All the logic told him hope is gone, all gone. For four years. It became part of him.

What do you do when something like that is proven wrong,  just with a tide? What do you do? Why that four years? Why the reunion that doesn't bring back anything? Why let the reality of loss slap him in the face again--four years ago, and then now?

Reality casts  you away and you render speechless. Neither does hope or hopelessness mean anything any longer.

-h-

"That secret was a hole in the middle of me that every happy thing fell into"

You leave after work, walk through the cold windy tunnel and solitude hill, come back to your room to find your room locked. You find your key and open it; the lights were off, and windows closed. You open the lights, take off your coat, and hang it up. Slip into your slippers or flip flops and change into more comfy clothes. You go on the computer, check email, fb, etc, whatever that you do. You turn around and see no one. You go into the hall and see no one. Absolute silence. You come back, decide that you should grab the guitar and play something.

Hey, you're your own audience. How does that feel?

It didn't suck. It was just sad.

The life that was at least eventful and such just completely disappeared. It wasn't because that I took things and people for granted and when they are gone it's just weird and dead, but it is because I didn't take things for granted that made life dead when things disappear.

Whenever that happens, I just want to curl up and sleep, as if pillows are the only things left alive. My thoughts go random places. Probably not a good thing, but it happens. Sometimes I come up with answers and ideas to certain issues and whatnot, and sometimes my mind simply decides to make things worse and exaggerate the hole.

If my mind decides to juggle all these random thoughts, then I'll be forced to blog or something, so long that I get those down on paper, on record, so my mind can sleep.

What about you?

sonnet

I tried to wash away the thoughts inside

To feel the tears of hope, the shattered smile

To know that snow had came and dried

The memory all blurred that stayed awhile

 

A faded bliss is lingering behind

The lost and gain, felt altogether played

If the attempt will only serve to blind

Then I will not let fate to be the blade

 

You told me love and pain can make us strong;

And that our fate will treat the weather fair

So maybe in the end, if something’s wrong

The life of bonds will, in turn, be our air.

 

Because of you, each day that time goes by,

I will be strong, believe, to testify.

artsy

You know the desire to make things pretty? Like when you take a picture, or simply have a camera in your hand: you want to take something beautiful, abstract, simplistic, whatever it may be. You see a leaf on the ground and you stop and pose around the leaf to find a gorgeous shot and angle to shoot the leaf. You play with the brightness setting to make sure that the shot looks meaningful.

Or, you pick up a pencil and start to think what happened today. You go through the little details and decide if you should have done things otherwise. You think about why someone did something; the reason, and consequences, the flashbacks, and everything seems to be pick up meaning. And then you try to jot them down. You document your life with details and scripted descriptions; you want your life to sound like a novel.

I don't usually draw all that much. I used to sketch a lot of stuff, simply because I like to. I enjoyed being able to picture the world the way I wanted it to be, even though my picture might just stink. But now I think of it, I never tried to draw my emotions. I suppose I knew that I wasn't good enough to do so so I never tried.

But what did I do instead? I think it all went to body language.

I walk away from things I wanted.

I write.

I smile.

I hug.

I love.

But I don't think I was ever good with any of them. Yea, they all sounded perfect in my little ideal world in my head. I thought, "well, at least I'm trying to make the world a little better for myself."

"So you wrote it down I'm supposed to care, even though it's never there"

When the words came to me, yea, they could tell what I wanted. I smile and do other things  because I think it's the least I can do to make others feel a bit better. And for myself, I have at least a little something to smile about, the chance that I might make other people smile, even if it's just a second.

I've always wanted to write a novel. But all I've ever wanted were in pieces, and I couldn't piece any of them together.

I still don't think I can write one. I don't know myself enough. Or, rather, I don't have enough to tell. I can never tell enough either. My life isn't artsy and scripted enough.

It's just filled with friendly intentions and fair-weather smiles.

or not to be

Reasons drive actions. It's cause and consequence. Just like sometimes people put up walls just to see who cares enough to break them down. The reason part is difficult to figure out, not to mention all the consequences that could follow.

"Sometimes, the person who tries to keep everyone happy is always the loneliest person."

You want to be a change in something; the world, an event, an idea, a person. It feels good to know that you've made a difference, because you reached out. You tried to change something--whether it's for yourself or others. Something's lacking in the world? You want to start in your own little world first. You are not happy? You want to change that. Someone's having a bad day? You want to change that too.

You have that initiative so you try something logical that may work. After that, you just hope your goal is accomplished, that someone's happier, that the world is a little better.

Maybe you didn't even really think about that big globe when you did something.

How do we perceive the results and consequences? We/you decided to do them, and do the results meet your expectations? If not, is it reasonable to question yourself why you attempted the idea in the first place? Well, you thought it would work. But reality was as clear as glass and there's no way you could have seen that glass wall. You thought you knew what it was, but then you look around that glass wall, and the refraction in the glass shows you the reality.

And then your heart takes in all that light. The light is so bright that it begins to blind your heart. Now that you're paralyzed a bit, you don't know what reality actually is, nor the nature of your own belief because, hey, you didn't know that there was that glass wall there.

"You know what sucks? Realizing that everything you believe in is complete and utter bullshit."

The funny thing is, you may not always remember that glass wall, that it may be standing between you and another reality, that it is always standing between you and reality. And even when you remember, you don't know how to look around it so that you can actually see reality.

Now comes hesitation. You want to see the light, but you don't want to be blinded again, nor do you want to blind others because reality shines in all directions. So you put on some shades. You become more careful in whatever you do. Hesitation becomes sensitivity. Sensitivity creates a wall for your heart. A glass one, to be precise.

Why break down walls?

"Sometimes, the person who tries to keep everyone happy is always the loneliest person, so never leave them alone, because they will never say that they need you."

oyasumi.

to be

It's not always as loud as a bomb exploding; sometimes, it's like feathers falling and hitting the ground. Did you hear it?

I thought I was shooting for the little things. But then I wasn't and I missed out on the little things. I'm just about to go back to enjoying and treasuring all those little moments that, I believe, truly make life more enjoyable and survivable for me. And really, there are so many of you. And you know, sometimes, just seeing faces brightens my day.

I know that things have changed, and I just want to enjoy the little things, because there is really nothing else in life that's worth chasing for other than the little things. In the end, they'll all grow into something that you will begin to put together and create your own "big picture." Even if things aren't meant to be, they've touched my life in incredible ways, and I'm never the same.

For now, it's simply friends for me--people with whom I can simply share anything I want. They're people I can hold dear to my heart and know that it's something that I can treasure and love. They're people whom I can sit with in silence, and there'll be a lot of love passing between us. They have touched my life more indescribable than I can ever imagine.

You all know who you are.

You are right. I do feel content. I think that's all I want now. I don't think reality can handle any more wishes, and I don't know if I want to ask more for.

 

And here I am again, hoping and waiting for serene silence in my room, something I know that will never come.

 

oyasumi.