5 more minutes please

"the present tense is all we have" 

the most liberating thing in this world is to be able to not tell someone to stay. 

the rain beckons us outdoors, and then chases us inside. it cannot make up its mind. all the love songs are equally undecided. they beg us to sing along to the chorus, over and over again. then you realise you're sick of the song before the last verse. the skies put on a splendid show every evening until you don't even look up anymore. it took me all these years to understand this constant fight between wanting and not wanting. i should've listened when Emerson said, "adopt the way of nature. her secret is patience."

i am, tonight, more at peace than ever before. cryptic poetry has given way to prose, like uncomprehending pain has given way to happiness. a happiness born out of the ashes. a happiness that does not know the bounds of the real world. a happiness that needs no other. a happiness that propels me through the universe from the simple power of being able to let you go. 

i have learned to adopt the way of nature. her secret is now mine as well. 

i am in no hurry for you to come. or go. 

broken is beautiful

the japanese have a tradition they call kintsugi, where they use gold, silver or platinum powder mixed with lacquer to repair something that is broken. so the repaired piece becomes more beautiful than the original, and becomes a part of the object's beauty rather than render it useless or old. the "wounds" of the object thus become an integral part of its being, rather than something to be hidden.

our lives are constantly broken. by time, by thought, by mystery, by people and by grief. and nothing breaks you more than the unknown. every person i meet seems to be mortally afraid of being alone. better sad days than lonely days. better a bad movie than a quiet weekend. better a bad relationship than dinners alone with the wind. when did we all become so afraid of ourselves? do we not trust? is there no meaning anymore in the self? is the soul determined to wander confused and aimless because it was not taught how to love the self above all else?

in the 15th century, when kintsugi originated, it was rumoured that people became so enamoured with the art that they deliberately broke precious lacquerware so it may be repaired with strands of gold. wabi-sabi, a related Japanese concept talks about how you embrace the flawed and the imperfect, and how an object's brokenness simply becomes an event in its life, rather than the end of its journey.

you are the gold lacquer that has now filled the cracks in my soul. i am broken, but you have made me beautiful. i am alone, but you have taught me how to be happy. i am lonely, but i now know how to cherish it. you are the love that has repaired the thin fissures of my soul, and made me more beautiful than before.

later

"i can't live,
with or without you..."

i had a strange dream sometime ago. strange because i remember it even after all this time, and because the more i think about it, the less it seems like a dream.

i saw you. many many moments after we had parted, i saw you suddenly in the middle of a crowded place, late one weekend afternoon. i saw you, and you didn't see me. i watched you. you were smiling; the same smile that lights up the world around you. you were holding her hand, and she wouldn't let go. the tears rolled down her face, her hands scrunched around your finger, trembling and scared, wanting nothing more than to be in your arms and rest her head on your comforting shoulder. you hold her, her tears slowly fading. you lead her to a chair, sit down, put your arms around her and hug her as she slowly closes her eyes. she melts into you.

you look up and see me. time stops in its tracks, and the world stops turning. she isn't crying any more, but i can't seem to stop myself. tears break through my resolve, tears that defy the iron-clad rules of love, despite the smile on my face. you wave at me and smile. i smiled back, i promise i did. you beckon me to you, invite me to walk those thirty steps to you. i stand where i am, i wave and shake my head. no. we looked at each other, smiles on our faces, tears in our eyes and our souls on fire, burning down the entire universe. i stood where i was.

after what seemed like eternity, when the little one looked up at you, you tear your eyes away from me to pat her back to sleep. the spell was broken. you looked up again, and i was gone.

in my dreams, i swear, i did the right thing.

allow me

it's quiet. at last. nothing but the swish of the tree outside my window. and the crickets wishing each other good night a thousand times. because saying it once may not make it good enough.

i'm alone for the first time in seven days, after going over every deadly sin. thursday for sloth, friday for envy, saturday for pride, sunday for greed, monday for gluttony, tuesday for wrath and wednesday for lust. seven days of going from wanting to kill the self to feeding the soul. the trees and the water and the rocks and the sun tried to feed the hunger in my soul, while the smiles and the hugs and the laughter were slowly poisoning my blood.

strange observation that love is not one of the seven sins. suffice to say i would've been held guilty many times over, if it was. unrequited, unfulfilled, unnecessary love. i would need more than seven days of seven years to fall out of love. but it took me less than seven minutes to fall in love with you.

i am alone, at last. i have the night stretched out in front of me, in all its glorious, sexy self. waiting for me to stroke it and kiss it and thrust it to satisfaction. and whisper sweet nothings in its ear, so softly that even the stars will not overhear. because the bastard stars hear everything i say and remember everything i do.

and as i melt into the darkness, there is only thing i want, and only one thing i am grateful for:
i am alone, at least.