27 Dec 2013
A Moment
...to think, and slightly to moderately overthink. Now a twist. Embracing the moment, without anticipation or reluctancy; without hesitation or fear. More than this. Colliding with it. Becoming an integral part of it, because the moment is all you feel and all you need. Being lost in it without the captivating desire to be found, without maintaining the illusion of reality. Forgetting about time and its control. The moment is resistent to its power. The moment is imperfect, but is pure in its flaws. You can see through it, but you cannot know is it true or is it not. Then afterall the moment remains untouched and tended on its own.
12 Dec 2013
Knowing
A spider.
Crawling.
On the white wall.
Then you open your eyes and realise it was a dream. You have fallen asleep. Unintentionally. You were scared. You were actually scared for your life. You woke up and it was all a dream. A nightmare. But why it does not feel so? It is over, you thought. Then why does it still feel this way?
Wide awake.
You look behind and check the wall. Twice. No sign from it. How can it be possible? Seconds ago it was there. You were certain. You knew. It felt so real. It feels.
Now?
You close your eyes and then you open them again. You can't remember the dream, can you? All you can recall is the spider. Crawling. You saw it, did not you? You felt it.
You did not feel the spider, did you? It was not it that you feared. It was not the reason. You know. You cannot lie.
Breathe.
You are awake now. Yet you still feel threatened. You don't need to ask why, do you? Cause you know. You always, always know. But knowing does not help, does it? It does not change a thing. Yes, you wish it did. Don't ask yourself the same question. Stop it. It is not over. It will not be over anytime soon. It cannot be.
It was not just a dream, was it?
Crawling.
On the white wall.
Then you open your eyes and realise it was a dream. You have fallen asleep. Unintentionally. You were scared. You were actually scared for your life. You woke up and it was all a dream. A nightmare. But why it does not feel so? It is over, you thought. Then why does it still feel this way?
Wide awake.
You look behind and check the wall. Twice. No sign from it. How can it be possible? Seconds ago it was there. You were certain. You knew. It felt so real. It feels.
Now?
You close your eyes and then you open them again. You can't remember the dream, can you? All you can recall is the spider. Crawling. You saw it, did not you? You felt it.
You did not feel the spider, did you? It was not it that you feared. It was not the reason. You know. You cannot lie.
Breathe.
You are awake now. Yet you still feel threatened. You don't need to ask why, do you? Cause you know. You always, always know. But knowing does not help, does it? It does not change a thing. Yes, you wish it did. Don't ask yourself the same question. Stop it. It is not over. It will not be over anytime soon. It cannot be.
It was not just a dream, was it?
7 Dec 2013
House of Cards
There are moments when her life resembles a house of cards.
She designed it, projected it, and built it. Card by card. Then a card fell down, followed by another, and another until it was almost slowly ruined. But just like with life, she decided to build it up again.
To try.
And so she did. Some cards were not at their places anymore, and in a result the house did not appear to be as complete as it once was, but she still attempted to take good care of it despite its fragality.
She tried.
Nevertheless, smilar to life, trying does not seem enough. Her efforts have become failures, and the house... does not look like a house anymore. It is all broken now. She cannot revive it, nor position even half of the cards. They are missing. The wind has sent them away.
Still she cannot stop but asking the same old and ongoing question when would it be time to stop trying and simply forget instead...
She designed it, projected it, and built it. Card by card. Then a card fell down, followed by another, and another until it was almost slowly ruined. But just like with life, she decided to build it up again.
To try.
And so she did. Some cards were not at their places anymore, and in a result the house did not appear to be as complete as it once was, but she still attempted to take good care of it despite its fragality.
She tried.
Nevertheless, smilar to life, trying does not seem enough. Her efforts have become failures, and the house... does not look like a house anymore. It is all broken now. She cannot revive it, nor position even half of the cards. They are missing. The wind has sent them away.
Still she cannot stop but asking the same old and ongoing question when would it be time to stop trying and simply forget instead...
5 Dec 2013
Perhaps
...it is a chain reaction.
I should not think of him, or even slightest letting myself liking him. He makes me angry. I become even angrier looking at his eyes.
Perhaps
...I don't like their colour.
In order to stop this vicious circle, I need an external and detached distraction.
Writing.
The pieces that are moderately tolerable need inclination. And what's better than seeing the Fragment.
Meeting him.
Being few inches away. Exchanging glances. Catching a sight of his deep and breath rhythm disturbing dark eyes. Being drown in by them. Then writing comes easily. It is effortless, smooth and profound. Not seeing him, leads to not good enough presented words, disturbed sequence, and no coherence in my thoughts, because all of them are storm clouded by my emotions towards the person I least want to feel anything.
Perhaps
...now this is something not to write about.
I should not think of him, or even slightest letting myself liking him. He makes me angry. I become even angrier looking at his eyes.
Perhaps
...I don't like their colour.
In order to stop this vicious circle, I need an external and detached distraction.
Writing.
The pieces that are moderately tolerable need inclination. And what's better than seeing the Fragment.
Meeting him.
Being few inches away. Exchanging glances. Catching a sight of his deep and breath rhythm disturbing dark eyes. Being drown in by them. Then writing comes easily. It is effortless, smooth and profound. Not seeing him, leads to not good enough presented words, disturbed sequence, and no coherence in my thoughts, because all of them are storm clouded by my emotions towards the person I least want to feel anything.
Perhaps
...now this is something not to write about.
1 Dec 2013
Clarity
...rarely comes fast and almost never lasts.
***
Cream chiffon dress left untouched on the floor in the middle of the room,whilst the carpet still looked moderately tidy, regardless of the surrounding mess. The heating was set too high and made the air rather dry than warm. She kicked her shoes off as soon as she unlocked the door and entered the room. She got rid of her jacket in the same manner she did with the shoes and forced it to make company to the abandoned dress. She rushed to open the window and only then she allowed herself to breath in and out after realising that she had witholded her breath for far too long. Instantly, this brought her with the unfabricated sense of relief that she so much craved for during this prolonged and dreadful day.
And as she started to remove her earrings, she could not help herself but revisit the same places of her mind that she unsuccessfully tried not to. The rhythm of her thoughts being replayed was barely interrupted by the sounds of the wind welcoming itself through the forgotten window. She closed her eyes and exhaled for a brief second, then she hastily put her shoes back on, gathered her jacket from the floor, and left the room as quickly as she had entered it eight minutes ago. She ran down the stairs, opened the front door and slammed it behind. And then she knew what she had to do.
...
***
Cream chiffon dress left untouched on the floor in the middle of the room,whilst the carpet still looked moderately tidy, regardless of the surrounding mess. The heating was set too high and made the air rather dry than warm. She kicked her shoes off as soon as she unlocked the door and entered the room. She got rid of her jacket in the same manner she did with the shoes and forced it to make company to the abandoned dress. She rushed to open the window and only then she allowed herself to breath in and out after realising that she had witholded her breath for far too long. Instantly, this brought her with the unfabricated sense of relief that she so much craved for during this prolonged and dreadful day.
And as she started to remove her earrings, she could not help herself but revisit the same places of her mind that she unsuccessfully tried not to. The rhythm of her thoughts being replayed was barely interrupted by the sounds of the wind welcoming itself through the forgotten window. She closed her eyes and exhaled for a brief second, then she hastily put her shoes back on, gathered her jacket from the floor, and left the room as quickly as she had entered it eight minutes ago. She ran down the stairs, opened the front door and slammed it behind. And then she knew what she had to do.
...
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