Heart of darkness

The darkness never left. It just sits there bidding its time, waiting to pounce. Because time, time is always on its side. It doesn't age with time. It doesn't change with time. It remains permanent, constant, and ever present.

While I, I remain weak, shrouded in the cocoon of life, the myriad of routines, that blinds me of the impending darkness, and my own slow doom.

Blissful of the fact that the heart, numb as it might be to certain emotions, is still very much vulnerable to the darkness. And when the time comes, the heart will fall, succumbed to the path of those before me, the fallen fools.

And this too, shall pass. But onto a path of misery and hatred.

So be it.

Sparks of love

The time between meeting and finally leaving is sometimes called falling in love.

He watches as the sky turns grey, and it reminded him of her, when he was holding her hand as they stood together watching the sun sets on a beautiful April day. Nothing could go wrong at that time. Everything seems perfect. And so was she, standing there by his side, her hand firmly in his.

He can still remember the sound of her beating heart when he laid his head on her chest that night. The slow constant beat lulled him into the dawn of happiness, and as he closed his eyes, he knew she was the one. He wanted the moment to stay forever, but time rebelled against that and morning came.

And that morning he finally understood. Nothing last forever, even love. And perfect moments.

The grey sky turns to black, as black as his heart.

The time between meeting and finally leaving is sometimes called falling in love.

It's raining tears

Things are never as they appear to be.

Once you learn to accept that, your life should be a whole lot happier.

The problem with caring too much, is you bound to get hurt. Badly. And there's always a limit to how much hurt one heart can take. Until finally, you stop caring anymore.

And the moment you stop caring, that's the moment when you stop hurting. But the problem is, you'll end up hurting others.

But you don't care anymore, remember?

It's like the rain that keeps coming everyday. It will come as it pleases, with a slow drizzle or a heavy downpour. It will wreck havoc if it wishes too, with flash floods and loud thunderstorms. And every now and then, the wind will howl with the rain, creating the sound of life. And you pause for a moment, appreciating the slow dance of the raindrops on your windscreen. And for the briefest of moment, you remember the pain that you felt a long time ago, and how you grew from it. For the tiniest of moment, you start caring again for the world, for other beings.

And then the thunder strikes, and it jolts you from your moment.

The rain will always come.

Just as the pain will always stay.

A leaf's tale

The smell of death

I have always marveled at how reporters tend to sensationalized a news story by adding a twist here and there to add more juice to the story. Let me give you a simple example.

Take an automobile accident. Since that seems to be happening everyday, and being reported daily, you can't help but to come across them the moment you check the daily news. Some resulted in death, some lucky ones escaped. But the stories that  I'm curious about are the ones where someone died from the resulting crash. So you get the story of the accident, perhaps how it happened, and the name of the deceased. Then the story of the loved ones being left behind.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm sure what was written was what being told to them. Often times, you will come across something like this - "the deceased has been acting strangely lately. Heck, he even sent me a text message seeking forgiveness etc etc". And now he's dead.

I find it amazing that some people are gifted with the premonition of death, that they can sense it approaching. I imagine it to feel cold, maybe a sense of detachment, and the realization that time is so precious but yet you feel like everything has slowed down. And you know that scene where your whole life flashes before your eyes, only that since you still have time, you get clips of your life, slowly emerging at odd minutes. And the weird thing is things that you have forgotten before, come back and you can somehow have a very vivid picture of it again.

Like the house where I used to stay in Panorama St., I can now remember every single details about the house. The layout of the house, the kitchen and it's stove, the oval table at the dining hall where plenty of card games took place during those long summer nights, Caitlyn's poster on my door, the laundry room with the cat litter in it, and the tree at the corner of the house, where it stood alone and stoic, watching over the house throughout the whole time.

I found out that the house was demolished a few years later. So whatever remained, they are all in my memories now.

Have you ever feel that death is so near, that you can feel it, taste it, or even smell it?

And for some strange reason, death smells like semen. The irony, of course, is mind-blowing.

Change

For the first time in a very long time, he felt so alone last night. It felt like he was an old PC, and as he was shutting down, he can feel everything slowing down. And he became stuck, not knowing how long it would take for the lights to go off.

And then, just like that, total darkness.

Suddenly, a wave of emotions hit him real strong, and he broke down and cry. A silent cry that really ripped his heart into pieces. Because he remembered the last time he cried - a long time ago when he was truly alone and had no one. And it brought back memories of the past, of the loneliness he kept as company, that he grew to love till it stabbed him in the back.

He can still feel that pain. And last night, it felt really real. And somehow he knew, that things will never be the same again.

Melancholy is the right mood to write

It's hard to write when you're happy. Or busy. You're out there enjoying life, really living the life that you want. You want to spend every single available moment being happy, with your loved ones, doing the things that you love.

And so the blog gets abandoned, remnants of the past when things were a lot bleaker and darker. Writing was the remedy for the heart, a solace where words provide temporary comfort, and soothe the beast raging inside. It was something like a coping mechanism, and for that, I am forever grateful and thankful for the comfort it provided.

But there comes a time when the past gets revisited, and those dark demons came surfacing again. Those long forgotten demons, never expunged, just pushed into a dark corner of the mind, forgotten. Bidding and waiting for the right time to jump out and take control of the mind again. And the mind, being lulled into happiness, grows weak and vulnerable. And so it begins.

Words are rushing out wanting to be written. I can feel the tip of my fingers tingling, anticipating the tapping on the keyboard. The calm before the storm.

Ingin sekali, aku ungkapi. Isyarat jiwa, dengan sempurna.

And so I ask myself again, what's wrong? Am I sad?

Or I simply miss writing that I choose to feel sad to be able to write?