Sup3rnality

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~

And again I think we've dropped it along the way. Or maybe we didn't. Maybe we dragged it along with us, heavy in our hands that it tore open and spilled out whatever was left inside. And all we have now is the handles in our hands and nothing to hold up. Nothing. Or are the handles still something?

Who's to say? I may not know how to sew. Well, not well enough to hold the weight for long, that is. Maybe for a little while I can. But if this gets too heavy again, we'll find them scattered all over the floor. We should learn to patch it up. Learn to sew things together and make it hold a little stronger. May not be the same, but I guess that don't matter. At least we've learned how to sew. At least we know how heavy this can be and we'd know how to mend it.

I ain't complaining. We can leave this here and not look at it again. But that's just it. Can we leave it be and not turn around and decide to just take it and keep it? I for one am always sentimental, holding on to things that have long lost its life just for its sentimental value. So can we really let this lie here forgotten? Lying in the dust, among the fallen leaves? No one will ever find it and
that's how it would stay.

Knowing me, I'll never. Too weak, too sentimental, too.... I don't know. But that's how it is for me. I'd keep it. I'd keep my side of the handle. You can leave yours, but I'll hold mine. It's important for me to have a piece of something of I've owned. I need to have a memory of it kept close and dear. Reminds me that my mind is not as screwed up as I thought it was....

So, here's to this heavy luggage. I can't hold it up, it's too heavy. But I'm proud of it, won't change it for anything. Do you want yours? Can you sew?

Yours, Lin~

It's all about timing. The counting of space of time from one step to the other. Determining the time to strike, seizing the moment. Carpe diem. Carpe noctem. Crap.

There is no time. No such thing. Time is a false god that has you watching the clock for a miracle to happen when all that is happening is your watching your life passing you by. It does not grant you the wisdom. There is nothing to know about from the ticking of the seconds. There is nothing in the calculation of the slow passing of time. All there is, is the now of the moment.

Counting the seconds between the sounds of thunder. One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thousand... And you can keep on counting. But it's for certain that that thunder will keep on coming. The time between them counts for nothing. Seize the time in between. There is only the now. Take it.

And then I think, we are of course, only human. If not, then, playing a charade, a masquerade that requires a human visage even if you doubt it in yourself. And we play these games, looking every so often in the direction of the clock hanging high above. Afraid of it striking 12, finding that weakening significance in those two digits in time. It has a meaning. It makes us count the hours. It makes us fear time, waiting for it. Waiting on it.

We wait for that precious second in time. That one-second window that for an instant gives you a chance to act. And there is no time to think of the consequences; all there is time for is the action itself. But we, being human, hesitate. And we find that window closing itself shut. Gone is that space in time when all else gives way to you to act upon that wish.

And can we blame ourselves? We are human anyway. How could we be anything else when we are still cowardly even in the face of that long awaited moment? Time still conquers us when it holds power over us, making us wait on it instead of our acting regardless of it. And what is more? We cannot even find that piece of strength we need to seize the moment of moments. Even the Cowardly Lion had the will to find courage.

So in dreams we find ourselves doing the things that should have been done. Dreaming out the maybes and should-have-beens. But in dreams, time is irrelevant. The passing of time could be seconds in what must have felt like hours, or the other way around. In the absence of that oh so powerful time, anything happens. But even then, things might not just be the way you want it.

So this is how it is. It is all about timing. Seize the day. Seize the night. Seize the gorram moment.

You may not have that much time left. But bloody hell. You see, I'm still human.

Love, Lin~

And sometimes I think it is all for naught. And deep down I know that falling could be a possibility, so I might as well stand at the edge. You can either pull me back, or you can just finish the job and push me over. Do what you see fit. I am constantly putting one foot out the door anyway.

But there are times when I reel myself back in. Seems like there's a pull somewhere in the depths. I can't see it, hell, it's murky this mess we're in. But I could swear I felt it. Or maybe that's just me wishing that it was.

I cast my eyes downwards most of the time. Too scared to look up. Scared of a truth I might not want to see glaring at me. Scared of a flicker that might be the beginning of something stronger than What I know. This is me. It's always been this way. Maybe always will.

Maybe I'll keep on running. Peer into the distance and see the road stretching way beyond and decide to run. See how far my feet could take me. Maybe stop every now and then to enjoy the view, maybe turn around and see if not far behind I see... well, see if the school bus I was outrunning is still behind me. Heck, inside it are the things that make me feel small like a child.

But I can also sit down and rest my feet and transit on to the next bus travelling on. And I can't make up my mind. I still have one foot out the door.

Convince me. Convince me this way. Or convince me the other way. Guessing games are getting a bit old. Let me know.

Pull me down. I'll let it pull me down. Sink or swim, I don't know and I don't care. We'll see.

I'm still a boat without a paddle. If you still have another place on your boat, then maybe we both can row.

Yours, Lin~

"Is there a love
Lost and found
Make it easy
Make it easy
It's not as heavy as it seems
Wrapped in metal
Wrapped in ivy
Paint it in mint ice-cream"
- Tori Amos

That's what we call ourselves at the top of our voices, eventhough in voices low, we don't even have a name. It's easier to pretend when all there is is the weight of nothing of something that once were. Maybe we dropped it on the way here.

Or maybe, we're sitting down a while to wait for the strength again to pick it up and carry it forth again. But it's not as heavy as it seems. I don't remember it being heavy.

Although, I admit, we've picked up extra baggage along the way. Some pieces here and there that contribute to this burden we have. Not that I mind all that much; this thing between us feels more like experience than regret.

People are looking to me and this thing I'm carrying and they want to know. And I? Well, I can't even figure out the combination lock to open this. I don't even know what's in this to begin with. But there they are around me, in their hands they too carry something. They are carrying an old tattered basket, on the handle of it a ribbon so white it must be new, and a borrowed copy of Buffy Season 4 Disc 3 inside it. They offer it up as they walk with me and then eventually pass me by. I don't know whether I want it yet.

And it's funny that they turn to me knowing, when really I don't. I don't know. Make this easy. Make this easy. I thought I felt that something when there was that moment in a moment. Dark, sweet, spark. I swore there was. Make it easy.

This is all it is. Whatever we have hanging in the balance. I can't see beyond, and I don't want to look too far back. I want to see what it is here and now. That is, if there is anything to see.
If not, well, then lets just paint it mint ice-cream.

Yours, Lin~