I hate relying on my heart.

And not knowing whether or not what you're feeling is right. I hate overestimating emotions. I hate believing that everything is okay, just to fall flat on your face and realize it isn't. I will never know how real things are from your perspective, I only know my side of the glass, and I hate it. I wish I was all knowing, I hate the risk that comes with trusting. I hate the crack that never goes away when someone loses your trust.

In the safety of her light, I am set free;

He drove carefully down the twisting lanes, and his excitement was growing rapidly as the distance between them shrunk. He had plans on catching the sunset for her; throwing a lasso around it and locking it in a bottle, but he forgot that November time ticks to a different beat, that days were shorter and ultimately, that meant less time with her. The sunset would've been beautiful, but he had forgotten to plan, as men often do.

She trotted out of her house playfully kidding around with her mom, bidding her goodbye, and assuring her she would be home early, that no alcohol was involved in the evening plans, and yes, he would drive safely. After her routine of sliding onto the passenger seat, a quick kiss, and a deep sigh of comfort, she felt at home once again. Here, beside him, in the car that held all those long conversations they shared on the way home, all the secrets and life memories that slipped off their tongues, all the goodbyes that reminded them the night was over, and they had separate homes to retire to.

He soaked up her efflorescence, it had been a while since they were both so happy in each others company, and she felt like she had fallen in love all over again, that the difficult times were over, and this was where she was supposed to be.

An excerpt from a title-less story I wrote just now

In their tribe, it was customary for every boy to venture off into the wild with his father as soon as he was of the right age, and Konu and Kele's mother, Natasha, had decided that it was time. Nobody ever spoke of what to expect during the journey, Kele only knew that all the boys that left always came back looking different: rough around the edges, and all traces of childlike-innocence and dreaming had vanished from their eyes. They would leave as boys, and come back as men.

"We're here," Konu announced

Kele looked up and saw the same tapestry of stars he saw every night; a mess of undecipherable constellations overhead.

"Which constellation is it?"

"Look with your mind, Kele."

Kele looked up, and saw nothing different from the first night, and every night he looked at the stars. There were too many to spot any constellations at all.

"Father, I really can't see it."

His father smiled, as if he was expecting this, and nodded his head. He fumbled with his bag and the few pieces of wood he brought along, striking them together until a small fire lit up on the end of one. He handed it to Kele, "Help me look for wood, we need to build a fire if we wish to stay alive."

"How will I come back to find you? It's pitch black out here, father,"

"The stars will guide you,"

Kele bit his lip, he didn't trust himself to be out in the wild, let alone in the middle of the night, but he didn't want to disappoint his father. He took the burning tree branch and started walking into the darkness, he knew the fire would only last around an hour. He turned around to look back at his father, but he couldn't see past the almost-solid black of the night.

"Keep going, Kele! Standing there won't get you anything," Konu called.

It was a while until Kele finally walked into what must have been an oasis once upon a time, there was a dry cracked indent in the earth where a lake would've fit perfectly, and dead trees were scattered around. He made it a point that he walked in a straight line, so he could just turn around go back the way he came without the hassle of getting lost. He wondered if he looked mature yet, like the rest of the boys that had already gone through this custom, but his inner voice told him the journey was nowhere near over. He broke branches off the trees, piled them under his arm and lit a new torch with the dying flame of his old one.

"Time to go back," he muttered to himself. He looked up at the splatter of stars again, wondering which constellation his father was talking about, it was a mystery to him.

Kele walked for eternity in the darkness of the desert, with only his small ring of light surrounding him. He knew there was no way he'd find his father, and he was starting to wonder if that was the plan. He recalled the words of his friend Hat'o,

"It was both terrible and magnificent, that is all I can say. You will learn soon, Kele, your time will come. All I can tell you is, trust your instincts and listen to the voice inside you, it is almost always right."

Kele tried to listen to his instinct, but it was doubtful, what if his father had left him and gone back to the camp himself? No, not in this darkness. What if he sent Kele away to fend for himself in the wild?

The wind was getting stronger; Kele assumed he had entered the bracket of time that was most dangerous, the dark hours where everything seemed more sinister. His father's words crept into his mind, "Look with your mind, the stars will guide you," 

He looked up at the stars again, and hope fell short. It still looked like a messy universe to him. He fell back into the cold sand and lay there, watching the stars torment him.

Youre the only light I ever saw.

They sat on her bed, albums spread around them, technicolour photos scattered across the cloth continents of blue. He was there often, the only company she had to keep, and she was thankful for it for his presence saved her from creating personalities in her head. She knew she would be okay as long as she had him. She always showed him something she kept close to her heart whenever he visited her: sometimes a playlist of her favourite songs, or a box of old letters, recently she had been showing him photographs: still images of ghosts from her past captured onto glossy paper. 

She had spent weeks contemplating when she should show him her most personal item, a box that was entirely hers and nobody else’s; a box containing her very own memories. She decided tonight would be the night.

She watched him under the glow of the orange table lamp, intently looking through the photographs, running his fingers over the people’s faces, as if asking them to tell him their stories. He looked up, and met her eyes.

“Yeah?”

She looked at the box on the uppermost shelf, and jerked her head toward it, then looked back at him.

“Are you sure?” he asked, a slight sense of surprise on his face

She nodded, a second too late; he could sense the hesitancy,

“No, you don’t have to”

“I want to,”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so,”

“I don’t want to see into your past unless you want me to. I don’t have to.”

“I want you to, I’m just scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of what you might find,”

“I don’t want to look unless you want to show me,”

“I want to show you; as long as you promise things won’t change afterwards,”

“Of course they won’t”

“Promise?”

“Promise. But I don’t want you to show me if you’re going to regret it after. It should be something that’ll make you happy. I don’t want you to feel like you shouldn’t have taken the risk with me,”

“I won’t regret it; I want you to know this part of me.”

“What part is that?”

“The part that no one else knows”

He pulled the box over onto his lap and she smiled a wide grin as he opened the lid, and out pour every wonder. Memories, fluid as a midnight vapour in the icy months of the arctic, wispily slipped through his fingers and coiled up his arms, they climbed up his neck and sleeves and down his socks and ran through his hair, they latched onto her clothes and spiraled around her torso, like gazelles in the African bush. Every birthday, every heart break, every second of pride and accomplishment, every mundane weekday that had long forgotten poured out of the capsule and burst through the room, and her entire past was played before them.

All at once, the world can overwhelm me.

It's been more than two weeks since I saw you last. You said you'd come back, but its been so long that I'm starting to question your honesty, I wouldn't be surprised if you decided to stay where you are now, away from the mundane life here.

Well, whatever you're doing, I hope it makes you happy. I hope it keeps you busy. I hope it gives you a sense of accomplishment, because that's exactly what you deserve. That's what I've been searching for, for the longest time. And it comes, but it goes just as fast. I guess that's how I learned that everything is temporary; materials, feelings, even people.

The only thing making my heart tinge just a little bit is my own curiosity. Are you running away from me? That question haunts my conscience, and I guess there's no point in minding it, because the only person I am asking is myself, and as much as I wish I did, I surely don't have any answers.

I lie alone in bed all day, listening to the same song and wasting the fading daylight, but you know what? It's okay. I'm not sad, I don't feel lonely. I know you're doing what you want, and even though you're all the way over there, and I'm here, you won't ever be gone because we are family.
And people made from each others flesh and blood can never run away from one another.