The bed creaks
an undulating rhythm
Rising chests and sinking limbs,
one on top of the other
fighting for a single soul
Struggling to get out of binding ropes
A moan is stifled
but it gives way
Far too strong to be silenced out
The earth shakes
and a few stems fall,
but they were not roses
If I learned to love
My patches of hardened skin
The slight kink of hair that I took trouble smoothing
An imperfect smile in certain angles
Flesh and folds in the wrong places
Half-baked thoughts that bore no wisdom
Words I have regretted saying
Parts of my heart that I have shamelessly given
If I learned to love all of those,
Perhaps then only can I be whole.
You once asked me, “don’t you think there’s a reason why we met?”
I’ve long deleted our conversations, but words can have a way of staying. Some stubbornly stain your consciousness indefinitely, even when they no longer carry any meaning or feeling. Until one day they take the form of your current reality. And then, they go away.
I used to believe in “things happen for a reason”. But no reason can ever justify the magnitude of atrocities in this world. So I no longer did when you said that. I’ve since told myself that we make things happen. For the things we didn’t want to happen, we make them our reasons. And so, to finally answer your question, “maybe not, but you might be the reason for everything else”.
After all, not all stains leave a bad mark.
After a year of looking for a publisher in vain, I finally just decided to go through the self-publishing route of uploading a pdf on Amazon. No complaints though, it was a perfect way to realize one of my small dreams to write/publish a book. It may be my last book, but one still counts. I’m uploading the pdf version here as well for anyone interested. But if you’d like to support my paperback version, that would be awesome and so here’s the Amazon link. They print pretty to be fair. It’s also available in an electronic version (readable in any phone/tablet), yay for Amazon and boo for the delivery rates to Asia.
And finally but not at all the least, thank you Vergelle for being the prime motivation for me to actually decide on doing this project. Because when I wrote most of these entries in my blog back then, I never did really think anyone else would appreciate it. Thank you for being such a positive energy and reinforcement to your friends, luckily including me. You have no idea how much that makes a difference in other people’s lives – you should know, if you don’t. Consider this book one of the products of you being you. 🙂
I saw a cemetery from the bus this morning. It was along the way somewhere I’ve also never been to, but decided to go to this morning on a whim. The cemetery was a few meters from a military air base. If it had been a luckier day, I might have seen a plane fly by. It was on a rolling green terrain and sat in the midst of a plain that was blanketed with just the view of the sky. I almost wanted to go down.
There wasn’t any sun as the bus ploughed the empty road – and I was far out from places I’m familiar with. Honne’s Warm on a Cold Night album played over and over my headphones. Finally, I was going out for my soul.
Remember this day, when your limbs crumpled under the weight of his memory. Forming dark alleys and forlorn rivers. Twisted in their own reality.
Remember this day, when your eyes were surrounded and sunken, drained out of life. Vacuous, it couldn’t hide the pain unlike your smile.
Remember this day, when you imagined writing letters that will never be sent. Protecting truths that will never be known. Threatening to withstand the test of time.
Remember this day, when even sleep was robbed from you. Left with sporadic episodes. Leaving you awake treacherously in the middle of the night.
Remember this day, when the sun sets with all your happiness. And it rises without taking away any of your sadness.
Remember this day, when you cried alone.
One day you’ll be okay, and you’ll remember this day.
Sometimes, I see beautiful things. So beautiful that my grip on my camera strengthens as I raise it to my eye level. But when the moment captures my heart more than my eye, I somehow always find myself bringing that camera down. Because those imageries are always beautiful for how they make me feel rather than for how they look. And no amount of composition or camera build is capable of capturing that.
Though photographs tell a lot, this is the reason why the best imageries can only be found in a person.