We see what we want to see.

IX

I sit with the agonizing burn of wait. It crawls under my skin, slowly, making its presence more palpable. It collapses hours into minutes, minutes into seconds, seconds into eternities; an infinite pool of possibilities, a passive form of violence. Time tumbles into rough patches; seeing, feeling but never speaking. Not a touch or a word of acceptance.

I sit with the agonizing burn of wait.


VII

There are cities that we drown in, places that take us in its undertow. We rise, we struggle, we kick until we’re exhausted but we will eventually surrender to its embrace.

Its nothingness is a future, a smidgen of eternity. And even its slightest light is enough to carry us along.

Post-mortem

Okay, so  no one really died. Part of me did, I guess. I thought of starting over but that’s a lie. An illusion. If there’s anything I learned in the past week, it’s spending time offline and being with the person you love (yes, love) is the best thing that you can do.

I still remember that night when you visited the apartment, probably the last time, and you told me about your Singapore trip and how amazing and life changing it was. Your stories made me feel like I was there. Like I was there when Matt made you cry and you sang along to each of the songs they played.

But it’s all gone now.

I’m trying to put things back to perspective. I’m slowly being consumed by my guilt but I know nothing I feel will ever amount to what pain you’re feeling right now.

It’s weird. Sleeping on this bed again. Watching a movie, reading, wasting my time away. Just like what we used to do. Only a few months ago. I told you I was surprised to find some of my toiletries are still in the bathroom. You replied with the hash tag #HoldingOnToYesterday. I assumed it was sent with a fit of giggles. Weird. Sleeping on this bed again. My side of the bed is still the same. I’ve cried too many times here. With you, without you. Too many memories, really. Does my laughter still ring in this room sometimes? I know it irritated you. Those nights we spent watching Friends. You, bullying me to finish Buffy. The time we started an episode of Doctor Who. The time we attempted to finish Twin Peaks but we stopped because it gave you nightmares. The time when you forgot about me, engrossed in whatever game you were playing in your netbook. We were dying then. Too many memories, really.

It’s weird. Sleeping on this bed again. Watching a movie, reading, wasting my time away. Just like what we used to do. Only a few months ago. I told you I was surprised to find some of my toiletries are still in the bathroom. You replied with the hash tag #HoldingOnToYesterday. I assumed it was sent with a fit of giggles. 

Weird. Sleeping on this bed again. My side of the bed is still the same. I’ve cried too many times here. With you, without you. Too many memories, really. Does my laughter still ring in this room sometimes? I know it irritated you. Those nights we spent watching Friends. You, bullying me to finish Buffy. The time we started an episode of Doctor Who. The time we attempted to finish Twin Peaks but we stopped because it gave you nightmares. The time when you forgot about me, engrossed in whatever game you were playing in your netbook. We were dying then. 

Too many memories, really.

Thom Yorke. Might as well be the patron saint for lonely hearts and alienated people. I’ve always had this knee-jerk reflex to listen to Radiohead whenever I’m down-to-the-ground sad, which is quite often these days and a few years ago. And it’s weird that I relate to the feeling of a bug crushed in the ground (see “Let Down) but don’t we all? I always thought that the song’s crystalline guitars mocked me. Like “Hey, these guitars should evoke happy thoughts but all you can think about is the disappointing life that you have!” and it merrily goes along like you’re some discarded piece of paper. As Radiohead went along, Thom became less cynical and jaded. He still wrote songs about toppling house of cards and suicide but then there are “love songs” like “All I Need” and “Lotus Flowers” but it kind of sounds like a defeatist anthem more than lovestruck ode. I see shapes shifting in pockets like someone settling and letting all inhibitions go. But that’s just me. Yeah, we’ll unfurl like lotus flowers. From the mud, from the gutter.

Thom Yorke. Might as well be the patron saint for lonely hearts and alienated people. I’ve always had this knee-jerk reflex to listen to Radiohead whenever I’m down-to-the-ground sad, which is quite often these days and a few years ago. And it’s weird that I relate to the feeling of a bug crushed in the ground (see “Let Down) but don’t we all? I always thought that the song’s crystalline guitars mocked me. Like “Hey, these guitars should evoke happy thoughts but all you can think about is the disappointing life that you have!” and it merrily goes along like you’re some discarded piece of paper.

As Radiohead went along, Thom became less cynical and jaded. He still wrote songs about toppling house of cards and suicide but then there are “love songs” like “All I Need” and “Lotus Flowers” but it kind of sounds like a defeatist anthem more than lovestruck ode.

I see shapes shifting in pockets like someone settling and letting all inhibitions go. But that’s just me.

Yeah, we’ll unfurl like lotus flowers. From the mud, from the gutter.

I see those little awkward moments shifting, slowly, carefully. Like calculated masses of distractions. Like the overwhelming atmosphere of slow decay. Every bone in my body, every muscle is threatened by the thought of what we have crumbling every single day. There’s already a ghost in between our sheets, wilting away like our time together. It won’t be soon before it invades our bodies and our minds.  Photo by Ryan Mcginley

I see those little awkward moments shifting, slowly, carefully. Like calculated masses of distractions. Like the overwhelming atmosphere of slow decay. Every bone in my body, every muscle is threatened by the thought of what we have crumbling every single day.

There’s already a ghost in between our sheets, wilting away like our time together. It won’t be soon before it invades our bodies and our minds. 

Photo by Ryan Mcginley

The trouble is, I fell in love with you. I thought those seemingly innocent tweets and chats would just pull me out from the idle banality of work. They did, actually but you happened. We met at such an unsettling time in our lives: you coming out of an awful streak and I have my never ending issues about my fear of being in a relationship. 

I’ve had friends who went through a lot because they rushed things, jumping from one warm body to the next, out of their fear of being useless and alone.

I want this to be right but you never seem to care.

165. They find someone new, discover new things together, talk about you and leave you to rot. 

4. You hear the static hum of the cable wires outside your window. You pause for a bit, you put out your cigarette and breathe the nicotine-free air. You wonder where he is, what is he doing now and is he happy. You tell yourself that he is and you shrug. You know he won’t wait for you anyway. 8. You pick up a book, something that you’ve been looking for years now. Something about a dissolving marriage. You pick a random page and read it out loud. The words feel warm on your tongue. They send memories, crashing, clanging, trying to inch their way out. You drop the book and then you weep.  15. You attempt to finish your school work. This is the last night, you tell yourself. The night is deep and the light from the lamp offers a comfortable embrace, like a friend, like a lover. You slump on your chair and sigh. This is going to be a long night. 16. She brushes her hair while you gently caress the curve of her back. I’ve always admired the lines on your skin, you whisper in her ear. She takes your hand and puts in her stomach. Trace every inch of me, she tells you. (via)

4. You hear the static hum of the cable wires outside your window. You pause for a bit, you put out your cigarette and breathe the nicotine-free air. You wonder where he is, what is he doing now and is he happy. You tell yourself that he is and you shrug. You know he won’t wait for you anyway.

8. You pick up a book, something that you’ve been looking for years now. Something about a dissolving marriage. You pick a random page and read it out loud. The words feel warm on your tongue. They send memories, crashing, clanging, trying to inch their way out. You drop the book and then you weep. 

15. You attempt to finish your school work. This is the last night, you tell yourself. The night is deep and the light from the lamp offers a comfortable embrace, like a friend, like a lover. You slump on your chair and sigh. This is going to be a long night.

16. She brushes her hair while you gently caress the curve of her back. I’ve always admired the lines on your skin, you whisper in her ear. She takes your hand and puts in her stomach. Trace every inch of me, she tells you.

(via)