Sup3rnality

It bugs me that I don't write all that often anymore. If it was just here, it would not be so much of a problem, since this is only a mere medium to place screams that I would not otherwise vocalize. But the disurbing thought is that I don't even write in journals anymore; and I haven't for the past several years. Yes, I've jotted down thoughts here and there, but nothing subtantial or consistent enough to be called a journal. This bugs me.

If there's one thing I fear (besides the fear of Allah SWT, that is), is dying without having recorded all the thoughts and ideas that have run through my head. It scares me thinking that I could die tomorrow (again, yes, besides the fear of Allah SWT and doing enough rights in this world) and not leave behind all the words that went unspoken. I say more things in my head than in a voice that could be heard, and while I may not want the people around me to hear it at the time, I think there should be a record of what I really thought of the situation and for them to read what really went through my mind.

It may not be much, these things in my head; I have no delusions of being a philosopher of anything, but I do feel that there must be something to show for my existence, and this is how I do it. I find that my strength lies in how I put what I think into words, the way I think it and my point of view; and if I can't leave my mark that way, then I am just as well non-existent.

I hope I find in myself to write more than just when the urge strikes me. I hope my hand is never devoid of a pen to hurry along blue ink against my canvas to create blue swirls of words. I hope that there is incessant tapping on this keyboard daily to have proof of my living and existing.

Love, Lin~

And sometimes things get so crazed that I don't see the path in front of me. I can't see the things staring at me in the face. I cannot see where all of this is going. Where this will be ten years down the line. Where I'll be. What I'll do. I'm so blinded. Sometimes I cannot really see what I want.

And I'm sorry for comparing. I'm sorry I opened only a small space in my heart for fear of hurt. For fear that again I'd spiral down this long, lonely slope again and forget who I am. I'm sorry that I forgot I have a heart big enough to accomodate the world. I'm sorry I forgot. I'm sorry you found me at the wrong time. I'm sorry I never took long enough to get to know you, my defences were built too high up for you then.

It lies heavy in me this emptiness. A burden that is hollow. And I seem to have forgotten what fits there. I've forgotten what fills the spaces when I'm on my own. Sometimes I knock on occupied homes just to know someone's in there. And when they come to the door, I don't know what to say. I smile at them and wish I had the words that makes up the particles of myself, but I can't. And this is your doing. No, sorry, I won't put the blame on you. It is my doing, because of losing you. And you, too. And oh yes, you.

And I wish things were different. But I know I can say it a thousand times over, hell, I have said it a thousand times over; and I'll still be in the middle of this hollow room. But I would, you know; I would have done the things I should have. Then you wouldn't have been left out in the cold. You would't have needed to try. I would have already been there before you say anything.

And again and again, these words would only remain as words. Horses don't ride in these space of thoughts. And even if they did, they'd have nowhere to go. No reason to run. They'd be all at a standstill.

And time is at a standstill. There'd still be this vacuum even as the seconds tick by. Waiting for a moment. Waiting. And I'd leave this door open for you. This door will always be open for you.

Love, Lin~

P/s: And all that you think you know, isn't necessarily what is.

And maybe it is not for naught. I believe again. Well, for the moment...

Yours, Lin~