Fruity.

Catherine?

Yeah. She tells me you were a little too harsh that day. With your words and tone. You really shouldn’t. Oh and Jacky’s getting married, did you hear? Jen’s going to have her first born soon and not to forget Tim and his promotion. Everything’s going great. Yeah. Jimmy’s got his photography thing up and going and it’s been smooth sailing thus far, he seems to be able to handle things himself.

Trisha called the other day about the dry cleaners though. Apparently they’ve moved to somewhere uptown and she doesn’t trust anyone else with her husband’s suits.

Oh and Vicky is just enchanted by the new mall that’s opening soon, that girl loves her shopping, though I can’t say the same for John. He doesn’t share her sentiments.

Helen moved into her new apartment two weeks ago.

You?
Nobody knows you.
Nobody writes about you.
What’s your greatest fear? That you are inadequate? That you may live your entire life not accomplishing anything?

Accomplishment in whose eyes? How do you measure? Who measures?
Why are we inevitably driven by fear?
Is it even possible to ever achieve enough to be satisfied, or are we perpetually insatiable beings?

Well.
Why don’t you just
wake up.

The line? The line is an imaginary platform you create with your imagination. The kind of platform that makes you feel guilty, burdened with shame and unable to look others in the eye without that tugging in your heavy heart.

This has got to be it, you tell yourself. The feeling you get when you’ve done something, and realize that this one thing, this singular decision to commit this particular act has inevitably impacted and is about to change your life one way or another. There’s no turning back.

Regret? Perhaps. Yet knowing that even under different circumstances, better circumstances, you’d still do it. Why? Always the good question to ask, the one question where there never are any good answers to. Why?

I don’t know. You don’t. We don’t want to know. We’re afraid of the truth now just as we used to be, and always will be. No, not because the truth hurts, but because we’ve learnt two things in life, two important, vital lessons to get by.

One, run.
Two, con.

If avoidance is an option, make it the only option.
Otherwise, con. Lie, lie, and lie some more. Create an opportunity to, yes, run.

The one truth we can’t deny, is that we will never be able to fully accept others, just as we will never be able to accept ourselves. We’re liars, we’re cheats, and when the bombs start falling, we run.

You run, I con. Tiger never changes it’s stripes.

You can deny it. You can lie, con, even run from , oh irony irony. But hear this, when they know you, i mean, really know you, they’re going hate your guts.

The sands of time,
a penny and a dime.

These things happen. I suppose. Ups and downs, part & parcel.
And as humans, we search & we source for meaning in everything. A reason as to why.
Why these things happen.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

We often fail for there isn’t always a good reason for ‘why’,
Yet every corner, a perfect excuse for ‘why not’.

I’d like to keep saying ‘goodbye’, if i may. If it’s okay.

Goodbye.

The leaves, the trees and of course, the weeds that never give up.

It’s another one of those days where life deals you a hand that has you smiling on the sly, but not to them, the others. To them you pull a straight face, your best, most famous game face.

Lies within lies. Can’t have them second-guessing your next move. Better to keep them off track.

Then again, it could be that I am simply wrong, with my claims of knowing, that perhaps somehow, in some eccentric way, I am not who or what I think I am. Guilty, I’ve been known to judge myself a lot more, and a lot harsher than most would on themselves or others.

Why do I beat myself up over the littlest things?

The same reason why people seek love in all the wrong places, and they come back as more talented people. The weeks that follow after the breakup make them a better poet, a better artist, a better singer.

In that sense, dreams are beautiful. The concept of how anything is possible is far beyond our grasp in the world, yet in dreams they come close enough. How close is close enough? Have you ever been in love, in a dream?

I have.

Mysterious stranger she was, I didn’t get a name.

I awaken from my slumber but I still hear the sound of her voice, most delicate. It is now buried and soon to be forgotten. The lights are starting to fade.

I used to know a little boy, standing by the big rusty gate. He waited & waited, until one day the clouds started to gather, and the boy had nothing left to say. It started to get cold. Cast aside, and his dreams put on terminal hold, he makes haste.

He runs. He falls.

The little boy, buried and soon to be forgotten.
He was really only very much mistaken.

Beautiful you, trapped in a dream with a gaze that’s meant only to graze.

We’ll never be done seeking the approval of others. We’re approval junkies. We need it. It’s the motivation behind pretty much everything we do.

There is nothing to be learnt from all these experiences. Contrary to popular belief, not every experience teaches you something. Some are just there, some things just happen. It’s not like how they say in books and films, either you beat yourself up about it, or you rise up and learn from it, no.

Sometimes you’re not obliged to do anything. What doesn’t change is that people will always expect you to do something. People will always have expectations and breaking these expectations will open your eyes to a whole new world of humanity.

Fortunate for us. the word ‘Humanity’ is still being used in a positive context. I don’t know for how long more, but one can always hope.

Things happen, people walk away. Too many too soon, I’ve lost faith. Faith in myself, faith in promises and faith in humanity as a whole. I’m imploding on the inside. Everything’s so warped and compressed on the inside. Nothing gets out. I can’t write anything because of these feelings I have trapped inside.

Taking my medicine seems like a good option, but why numb? My sole intent is to try to feel pain again, because with all these things happening, the closest to feeling alive would be some pain. Love me, hate me, I don’t care. Hurt me.

Walking away, well, that’s indifference. It doesn’t exactly cause hurt.

I’m tired. Tired of watching the same things happen over and over again, tired of routine, tired of certainty. I need some uncertainty. I need to see less, I need to know less.

I need to be more ignorant. I need to be more oblivious.

It feels like I’m always caught in a rut between doing what’s right, and doing what’s easy. Why is this burden placed on me, to do what’s right, when the world never gives you a second chance. School let’s you make mistakes, the world doesn’t.

They shut their doors in my face because they’ve lost faith in me. I know I could do better, I know I can make it work, but second chances are not a thing of today. We’re too busy, too safe. Everything’s a calculated risk. Let’s not have anymore risk than we need. Let’s stay within boundaries.

Let’s stay safe. Let’s never trust.
You say this yet the next minute you’re swayed by charmed words and sugar coated promises. Know this, boy, girl, there are no second chances in life. It’s a lie.
Lies serve to create.

So they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

I keep wishing I wasn’t like this. That I didn’t see these things. I must have spent too much time being quiet when I was younger. Watching people, studying people. There is and always will be a part of me wishing that people, including myself, aren’t so predictable.

Whatever happened to illogical choices. Whatever happened to ‘I’m only human’ . Making mistakes.

I wish we weren’t so safe with our choices. I wish we’d have less education and more walking.

Why does life have to be a moral decision? Why do we have to choose either to be good, or bad? We’re all a composition of both. It’s what the world catches you doing that defines you?

Oh he’s a bad person, you say about the man on the front page of the newspaper, the one who abused his child. You pass judgment on this stranger, probably one you’d never meet, because a photographer takes a photo, a writer writes about the story, the judge passes the sentence.

You deem fit to judge. You say the law is about justice, about fairness. No. It’s about luck, most of the time.

It used to be that everything happened for a reason. It used to be that everyone had a destiny, or some form of meaning in life. Not today.

We’re lost, all of us. We think we know our way. We think we know what we’re here to do, to achieve. All we have is the scars of the past. The needs embedded in our DNA. The need to impress, the need to achieve, the need to nurture our ego, the greed the lust the hunger the thirst.

The need to make a mark. The need to justify our existence. Glory, glory.

And the solution is not as simple as getting rid of these needs. It gets worse when the only thing you care about, is how you don’t care about anything anymore.

It’s not because of the people walking away. It’s not because of rejection. It’s not because of misunderstandings and animosity. It’s about growing. I’m too old, too cynical, on the inside.

Maybe I just need a surprise. Maybe you need one too.

Maybe that’s why when we watch the news, when we buy the morning paper, no matter how much you fancy yourself a good person, one with morals and sympathy for others, a part of you wishes for something to read about, something to think about, someone to pity, someone to feel sad for.

A natural disaster, an accident, a crime.

We’re so sedated and our biggest mistake is thinking we’re alive. Our only hope lies within the subconscious. Maybe that’s why we’re subtly driven towards intoxication. Getting the conscious mind out of the way, getting ‘high’, in hopes of being able to see and feel a sense of what’s real. To feel alive.

Such irony. Seeking to actively sedate so we may feel alive.

But as it is, we’re only human.

It feels nice here, already.
The air, oh you know it.

No more familiar faces, places. Nobody knows me. I know nobody. Sometimes it’s nice, getting and being lost. I feel like I want to stay this way, for a long, long time.

Perhaps I will. Goodbye.

Love.

You’ve been hurt one too many times so you say loving is hard.

Quite the contrary, in fact, Loving is easy; too easy, perhaps. I was dumped recently for a reason so stupid that I am honestly appalled at the thought of it.

Perhaps words such as  “ the only one” , “ forever “ and “no matter what” are now pretty much meaningless to me, I am not naive enough to not believe in love. Love is everywhere, we know it, yet we deny it.

Love isn’t relationship. Relationship isn’t love.

They mingle, but they don’t tango.

There was she and he, me and her. She and he were similar, me and her, very much alike. After they left us I told him, hey, it was all emotion, zero logic. We simply fell in love and didn’t put much thought into the dynamics of the relationship, whether it would have lasted in the long run, or not.

I was wrong.

It was all logic. We figured we could base the relationship simply on the similarities and common ground.

Common ground. That’s where we went wrong.

Love, is about bridging. Connections and such.

If you’re both on the same platform, there’s no real connection. They say dating someone very similar is like dating yourself, and that’s plain narcissistic.

Love is about letting someone take your breath away. Either she or he gives it back slowly (allowing you to breathe amidst the chaos of life, and feel that special feeling when you’re with him or her) or she takes it away for good, and you suffocate and die.

There’s trust.

And if you’re that ‘compatible’, logically, you’re sharing the same air, and there really isn’t enough for both of you at the same time.

That’s not a good thing to be doing. It’s like sharing a boat; you’d both sink at the same time. If you were both on different boats, you’d be able to support one another.

Oh but you already knew that.