light.

sometimes it's like I can hear your voice. lately I've been living life like I had no choice. given one I'd give everything to get even a whisper of your sweet song. if ever I'm wrong, and I cause you harm, forgive me for giving you what they gave me.

you look like something I should remember. something I haven't quite forgotten, something floating. something worth noting you know, when you're so close to the ground and you look to the sky. so high up, but the clouds look near. you're like a cloud, take it as a compliment. must be fluffy, soft, I haven't really reached you. never really dared to, I see, sometimes that's freeing enough.

I understand that there must have been some sort of admiration she had for me or still has. With that alone, at the thought of it, how lovely it is to be desirable, rather to feel desired. This type of desire both ways might be different from the type of desire you would find in friendship. This one is much more primitive but yet gentle. It is certainly a bit too gentle for the moment. It was not the case with my tea this morning, left the kettle on the stove for too long. Long enough for it to be at a scolding temperature. Flavourfully scorched by this ginger tea. A numbness in my tongue. Surprisingly, I am not upset that it happened. A similar numbness I feel when I am around her, this one was just little bit more painful. ‘A little bit more’ such a polarising phrase. My mornings have been an insufferable routine, mostly because there’s no one around. Well it might be a little bit too dishonest, I am almost always greeted by the chatter between the auntie’s and my sibling. As well her good morning messages, how lovely it is to know that she thinks of me each morning. That’s what makes them good now. Because of her I treat my phone like a limb, it is like the imitation of her voice in my head as I read her message is real and as strong as my own voice. Comforting even as I sit by myself. No exaggeration, just right as it should be.

who are you? who am I? when we feel low we ask why, when we feel low we look to the sky. if I am you and you are me, why do I feel like there's something stuck in my throat? like we are all failed dreams and all that we have been told. flowers bloom in the sunshine, leave hugs and cuddles for the cold.

how lonely it is to be at fault for your own problems. to be a mother to the consequences, of cutting corners and leaping over fences. having no one to blame, no one to shame. no one around to point a finger at and scream "it's because you didn't have my back" to. it's just you, alone.

it's too deep. i rip into the good parts of me, or at least the parts i still see. i'm making it hard to be me, if ever you thought it's you, that's true because that's what i've made it to be, i've been drowning in a pool levels below the knee. it's too shallow for me to swim and i've been trying to get out of it, just when it feels all so grim, i see something that can pull me out of here. some wait to see if i'm still alive and some quick to pass by, analyze and leave. i'm still stuck here hoping to find someone that wants me to live a life and breathe.

i am not one to have lived in great comfort. any kind of comfort for the matter. the type of comfort drenched in posh interiors, imported cloth and love, the unconditional kind. i have had to be kind enough to myself for that is where my comfort lies. i believed the lie that unconditional love does not exist, though it courses through the plump veins wrapped around my wrist. ignorance is not bliss when you have been starved. i am hoping to show someone that comfort, never sell you short of anything. that love is comfort, that love is warm.

your lips coloured hibiscus reminiscent of a cup of tea in the light of morning. splattered on like a piece of abstraction. a distraction only meant for me, oh so i think. as far into you as my eyes can see, i am struggling to make out what you truly are. you are not your home, friends or cellphone number, or all the other things you are hiding under.

i used to see you so differently, like i was the wound and you were the first aid kit. i admit we did not fit but i loved how good you treated me, i was down bad and fell so hard for you. it is true, i was hopeless and I am sorry for wanting you to clean up my mess.

so many questions, when, where, what and how. i want it now but have to wait. the weight of the thought of it pulling me down. i lack patience. i am but a patient of societal disease, sleeping through the journey and wanting to wake up at the destination. i know where but do not know how, i know what but do not know when. what i can i put off for tomorrow, what i can not i struggle to do today. there's a always quicker way, i just do not which one it is.

there are sunflowers growing out of my heart. even with the lack of the actual sun they stand, it has been dark, in stark contrast to what grows in me. honestly, that's what gets me out of bed. ironically i pay no mind to what made home in my mind, because all i want is to do my part and live a life full of heart.

in my hand a pen, to describe the picture in my eyes and narrate the weight of my heart. the times when the words couldn't come out and when I had to look away. to when i kept on going and to when I took my rest for the day. through the few hills and rife valleys that spring up with time, it is with the pen in my hand that i will take on this life.

leave me! as most beautiful things do. have your way with what you find, feed your violent desires. i am neither satisfactory nor slightly below average. for you i have just failed, you need me to fail. so you can say i did not fight for you when i have barely healed from my own suffering. i am bound to be always suffering for you, i did more than i could