Handstands in the Graveyard.

Fragments of a dream, stitching together what was a black night if not for the dim glow of cigarettes burning like fireflies. A soundtrack of the slight splatter of morning rain as we took steps down the garden, cold mud seeping into our shoes. I begged for guidance with my outstretched hand, nobody claimed it but the night. Lost and scared, I followed the wolves as they explored past the trees, feeling too young to be out that late, that far, with those people.  We walked the earth until the thick treetops blocked out the stars, the navy blue canvas now hidden with a heavy black cloth. I stood frozen as they did cartwheels across the inky landscape, light laughter somewhat tainted with cruelty. Bottles clinking against marble teeth and paper crowns upon curly ginger hair, they were the kings and queens of the night and my honour was suddenly greater than fear.  I watched their performance like a projection onto white walls, wishing I could dive in. My socks were muddy, my skin was cold, but these people did not see me, I was not even there.

Re-Offender

I haven't been blogging as much for the past ... 6 months or so, and that's been a routine. I blog like hell for a few months, then I go on hiatus for a year. I just don't know if anybody actually bothers reading this stuff, not that it should matter, but I like knowing that some people are interested in my thoughts. I'm contemplating moving to wordpress or something, because Blogger just feels so outdated. I don't even know the pros/cons of wordpress lol so that might be pointless. Not like moving will help me write any better.

Anyway, I'm in that pickle where you don't really have anyone who'll understand the complexities of your mind except yourself, and writing it all out is the best way to put your thoughts into something concrete. There's always the problem of wording it, though. Thoughts are so intangible, but so potent. It's so difficult to put what you really mean into words.

Oh, language, you're a funny thing.

I'm a bit inconsistent when it comes to trusting. It's so hard to gain, but so easy to lose. Like a reputation, I guess. I've always been a bit too trusting. Once you're a regular in my life, I don't really hold back when it comes to trust. I'm always wary, though. With everyone. I always assume something bad might be brewing, or that a friend might have a secret grudge against me. I guess that doesn't make me so trusting after all. Or maybe it does, I'm probably just paranoid.

There's this one person who constantly lets me down, and I always pull out more chances. I guess when you love someone you start off by saying "one more chance," or "this is the last time," but you never really mean it once that second, third, fourth, time comes around. I'm lost in that grey-zone of "What I Should Know" when it comes to another person's life. We all have things we hide from certain people, like from parents, people you aren't close to, boyfriends, even. I guess I don't like hiding things from boyfriends, and I don't like things hidden from me, I like to know exactly where I stand. But based on all the recurring issues, I suppose that the universe is trying to tell me that it's naive to assume you know everything.

It's probably also naive to assume that someone can permanently stop hurting you.

It's also naive to assume that you aren't hurting the other person.

I'm naive.

The Whale Song

Adrift on the ocean floor; weightless and numb.

Searching for a feeling from long ago.

A thread of memory, uncut in the clutter of yesteryear. 

Salty breath and seafoam hair, I cannot place myself.

Oil-slick pools in the night sky; turquoise glass by daylight.

Therapeutic powers of the sun, awake me from this idle dreaming.

Awake me by the monstrous crash of waves beneath fishermen's boats.

Rust up my windows and stiffen my clothes that hang on the line.

White, crisp, scent of sea.

HONG KONG & MACAU 2011

It's hard to look back and see the truth.

I feel somewhat sad. Not the obvious sadness, but the kind that creeps up on you and reminds you of a time long ago, where things were much happier and vivid, and the nostalgia leaves you feeling funny because you realize that you no longer live in colour like you used to. It's like finishing an episode of your favourite tv show and realizing you have to wait a week for the next one, or submitting a project when you know that you could have done so much better.

I don't know if I've matured or if something inside me died.

Maybe it's the paranoia, I've been so paranoid lately, and by lately I mean a year or so. I've been growing up a lot in the past few years and faced things that not many of my peers have faced. Maybe that's what makes some of the daily happenings seem like pointless footnotes in a world of such bigger events.

And it worries me, because I don't want to be that grayscale person with the cloud constantly overhead. Wasn't I a fun person, once upon a time?  Wasn't I carefree and loud and energetic? I don't feel that way anymore, I feel like there's a barrier that stops me once I reach a certain level of energy, and now I just can't be bothered to get any higher. But it makes me so sad to think that I'll never be that childish again.

Is this growing up, or is this just sadness?

I've always been saying that when a person you love dies, a part of you dies too.

But it's not just that, it can't be.