The chords of a fitting song start in a lilting tune, and the words that emanate softly resonate powerfully with my own thoughts.

How I wish…
How I wish you were here…

I know heaven. It was there in every moment we spent together. Now I know hell…I ache for your voice, your words, your mere presence. The green fields are now in disarray, covered up by the hot ashes; my smile has been hidden behind a veil. The world was our fish bowl, it was all I needed as long as we had each other. And now it’s too small and suffocating. Now, I want out. I want it all to end, just like the song has ended, fading out with the whisper of winds…

* * *

But just as one song ends, another begins. A quivering string sets the air around me vibrating, sending the gentle hum of a tune to my welcoming ears. The guitar strings are plucked and bent, rising in a tune that flutters a change in me. The complexity of the notes increases gradually, stopping to give words to my thoughts.

Where were you, when I was burned and broken,
While the days slipped by from my window watching?
Where were you when I was hurt and helpless…?

The things you said, and the things you did surround me. Every memory of mine is stained by your presence, like silk dropped in dye quickly absorbs the colour. How am I to think of everything that has been my past without thinking of you? How am I to move on when thoughts of you keep me here, frozen and hanging on to you?

All of a sudden, with the rising beat and the rising tempo, an epiphany comes to me, as it sometimes does in moments of utmost despair.

I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life

Something begins to stir within me. I unveil my smile, begin to sweep away the ashes that cover the green fields of my emancipation. I will never forget you, but I will try to forgive you, to push you into a corner of my past and leave you there. All the space I create will be filled with other things, things that make me happy—music, friends and love. I am no longer empty, for I have given wings to my soul and set it free. This room is no longer empty, for these white walls call out for posters, for a tinge of colour and life.

Life.

Lyrics from Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” and “Coming Back to Life”

I’m quite sure that I may not be as mis-shapen a piece of jigsaw puzzle as I think I am. I have a cynical, pessimistic approach to life that I seem to be proud of. I see the world in all its black, white and grey glory, and I seem to find myself attracted to the blacks. People disappoint me, petty and squabbling as they are. And yet, my contradiction arises from the fact that I want to be accepted. I find that my ideals resonate with very few people; maybe that’s why I try so hard to find people I can be myself with and be accepted in my entirety.

My other problem is that I look for perfection in everything. I hype things up, because I like thinking that we’re all living storybook lives, that we all count for something, that there’s a big picture in life. Maybe there isn’t. Maybe life’s big picture is a collage of all the small things. Maybe there is no ‘maybe’.

Anyway. I’m digressing from what I wanted to write about.

There’s a girl. I like the way she thinks. I want to like her, but I don’t know her well enough. That’s about as much background information you’ll need.

What I’ve been thinking about is why I’ve been thinking about her so much, why I’ve been hyping her up. I think I’ve highlighted the answer in this post, hidden behind my incoherent sentences somewhere. (The incoherence wasn’t on purpose, by the way. I guess I’m just not very good at articulating the not very well formed thoughts in my over-active brain.)

~Fin~

I am selfish, I’ll admit. I look for others to love me, appreciate me, and I miss it, because I left behind one who did. You don’t really realize what you’ve lost until you lose it.

Logic tells me that all I need is a little time. Things work out, like they always do, in one way or another. The first year of engineering wasn’t amazing either, was it? Somebody always comes along. All I need is a little time…a little time.

Until then, I admit…I’m homesick.

I don’t know.

Sometimes, I think I think too much. Do I? Maybe. I comfort myself by saying that I’d rather be this way than not. I’d rather think a lot and find wisdom and the pride that comes with it, but I often find myself craving the bliss that comes with ignorance. Should I want to be like someone else? Should I want to be satisfied just a little easier? There are people for whom the smallest of things become the biggest of things, and the little things in life are all they care about. I dream big. I don’t think I’ll be satisfied with a partner for life, I want a soul-mate, I want that one that’s been made for only me.

A juvenile idea, that’s what it is, I know. But I’ve already professed I’m a romantic. And I’m a cynic too, because I know that stuff like that only happens in movies and books, in a world that’s only meant to entertain and enthrall us, make us wish we were the characters in a story with a perfect ending, and we’ll live happily ever after…but I know we won’t.

Settle for something less, settle for something reachable, settle for something practical. Yes, I know that, thank you very much, because I say it to myself every day. But I’ve also been a firm proponent of the idea that we have almost no control over the way we feel, sometimes. We have control over our actions, but that’s different. I have no control over what makes me angry, but I can control the urge to smash the mirror or to throw a rock at someone. I can’t control when I feel sad, or get a feeling that something bad is going to happen. Another juvenile, childish, clichéd phrase, I know, I know.

I also cannot deny that just as every end once had a beginning, every beginning is the beginning of an end, at some point. The honeymoon is over, and the relationship is bound to change. I’ve been preparing myself for this all along. Have I not experienced something like this already? Why then does it bother me?

Is this irrelevant to what I’ve been writing so far? If you’re reading this, then yes it is. If I’m writing it, then no, it’s not. I don’t blame you for not understanding. If you wrote it, and I read it, I wouldn’t understand it either. This is just a free flow of thoughts, condensed, beaten, moulded against their will into words, for thoughts have no structure, no words, no shape or colour or touch or sound. And this is why I cut my writing short, because as the thoughts flow from one to the other, they end up dangerously toeing the line of incoherence. And this is where I’ll stop now.

I used to think that 20 fascinated me. She did, but perhaps fascination is an exagerration. I certainly am interested in knowing her better. I might even go so far as to say, even at this point when I think I know her a little better, that I wouldn’t mind if she was a little more attracted to me. That being said, however, nowadays, I find my attention being grabbed more and more by you. If the two of you are in the same room, I’d rather be sitting with you than with her, I find. You’ve definitely got a more charming smile, but that has to be taken for granted considering I’ve always been a sucker for your smile. I’m beginning to find more things about you attractive now, like your soft voice, your eyes and your face. And when I say “face”, I mean how it all just falls into place, in sync with your smile.

I might have given a little more room to my emotions and feelings had you not been going out with someone else though. For now, I restrain myself from flirting with you or telling you how attractive you really are.

When I opened my eyes, I saw blurry hues of green and blue, speckled with the dull brown of the mud. It took a while to wipe the water and the tears from my eyes, and a little longer to wipe my glasses. But in that one moment when I put them on, I felt my breath being taken away. Here I was, in solitude, with no sounds to hear, but the melodies of nature and the voices in my own head and heart. For a few minutes, the voices were silent. I was absorbed, I was but a mere thread in the fabric of life, and while I stood surrounded by the  truth itself, it reached out to me. I am but a mere thread in the fabric of life, and life is eternal. I am eternal. Everything I do, everything I touch, everyone I meet is a part of me, and I am a part of them. We are all different, and yet we are one, and we are all eternal. There I stood, finally finding the peace that eluded me for days.

The rain abated finally, and the clouds parted lovingly for the sun to smile at me. I smiled back at it, my  first smile in days…since you’ve been gone. I pick a fallen flower; so gently it lay on the soaked ground that it reminded me of you, lying gently and peacefully under the surface of the earth. But today, for the  first time since you went away, I am at peace. I lay the flower gently back on the ground where it belongs,  for in the end, everything must return to where it came from…even you.

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I’ve been writing for years now, and I’ve had many sources of inspiration. My misfortune has been that most of the time, that source of inspiration comes not from within me or my world. It comes from the world’s perception of me. I must write better. I must impress others. I must be the best (or at least among the best). There was a point of time once, I think, when I would write because I wanted to write to please myself. Now I write to show others… when did things change?

I’ve been pondering about my writing, and my writing reflects on myself. Have I ever lived or done things to please myself rather than please others? When did I stop? Why? … who am I? Myself, or an amalgamation of the ideas others have of me?

Far away, I hear thunder. The nineteenth day of May, 2008 has been extremely hot. But the night rebels. The night rebels in tune with the rebellion rising in my heart. I have to find myself. The wind picks up speed, coming in cold and heavy from the open window diagonally across me. It brings the sound of thunder… in the heart of summer, it brings the smell of rain.