a daylight dream

  I need to remember to be angry. I need to remember that all these years, I’d learned helplessness and to hope against hope that things would be better. I’d learned that it was only divine intervention that would do— and nothing I’d do would amount to anything. that may be true in one way, but it isn’t on the other side of the coin. I need to keep doing something. the moment I return back to how it was like before, I’d fall back to forgiveness. I’d fall back to forgetting the pain, the only thing that I need to be remembering if not actively recalling every moment of the day.  I’m not supposed to forgive right now. I’m not supposed to deny how much I’ve been betrayed. I’m not supposed to discard my rights to live in kindness and empathy. It’s my right to have expectations for my life and to want things, to actually  need  things and never feel guilty about it. it seems that everything I had learned all these years have broken me so much. and it saddens me that every time I felt at pea

it’s been days of returning home to a melancholy so cantankerously foreign. the melancholy of a dissolving future, an annihilation of vivid dreams, the dissolution of what was once real. it’s been days of not being able to eat a morsel of food without feeling the gnawing pain at the pit of my stomach. the sparkle in my eye fading from suddenly not giving a damn about most of the things I cared so much about before. there’s a screaming inner child in me. she can’t take it anymore. she wants to  leave . it feels easy in theory. I could just pack my bags and leave, find myself in an airplane arriving in the bitterness of November and to all this calming snow.    the coldness would freeze my anger for a while, the grey skies would turn the vividness of all these conflicting thoughts into a monocolour scheme. I’d feel calmer, for sure. more stable. I know I’ll be okay. at least much better than here. the hardest thing perhaps is the fact that I must give up on love— and love myself instead.

somewhere in between your magnetic touch, I was teleported into the in-betweenness of worlds. the infinite  oh s, my fingers in yours. our fingertips delicate enough to spin the entire world into motion. something miraculous brewing in the background of your limitless love. I stop midway and catch my breath. something in my heart breaks. something of a metallic cling— sharp, harsh, formidably tough. something of a cold, haunted memory I don’t want to touch. you hold my hand and catch those sunken clouds from falling too hard and place that beautiful hand of yours on my heart.  safe . I’m safe. oh God, I’m  safe . finally, I can lean on this shoulder. sleep deeply. dream of beautiful things that are not only fantasies. things I can touch. my freedom. my life. that pain lurking deep in my belly, that screaming voice that doesn’t fade no matter how hard I try. the shame that I have stopped to try. God, you heard my plea that late May night, kneeling down with tears too hot to touch. I ple

it is quite a treacherous path to demand what is righteous for oneself. an achingly questionable one— where selflessness counters the integrity in healing one’s life path being enclosed in labels such as selfishness, neediness and desire. I’m not used to wanting much from this life. alas, there is not much I deeply want but to live in remembrance and in the grace of seeing the otherworldly light emanating from heavenly scapes in which the truth flows. but here and now, I find myself demanding something new, something worldly, something temporary. in the soundlessness of a November morning, sunlit rays take their time. I return to the safety of my cocoon: its emptiness, and the palpable echoing radiance of connection and meeting oneself in His subtle presence. my heart melodises its first whimpers for so long. an  intention . oh God, I’ve been fighting for so long, my insides inflamed with its infliction. I’m exhausted, and I’ve been betrayed. I’ve been betrayed from the one a daughter

  I found myself in tears this morning, heaving some of the toxic ashes I breathe in every now and then. they’re easier to bear now that there’s a breath of cool, fresh, minty wind that blows off the residues of my past. but when it’s still and quiet, the ashes choke me, just as they did, this morning. some years ago, I dedicated my life to become a healer. wandering through the dark alleyways of existence with a candle in one hand and the other on my heart, I’d seek the tyrannical storms and stay till they ease, till the emergence of an enchanting cloud-form. these years were well-spent, well-lived, sweetly entwined with intentions so genuine.  but it feels now that I cannot give but the  truth . my conversations are harsher now and they cut to the bone. my eyes pierce the mountainous walls built so high just to shield vulnerability away. I remain still, gentle and calm— but when I speak, it is the hurtful truth. I accept that there are some things I cannot tolerate anymore. I accept

  every crease on my shirt takes me to the world where your kiss was one breath away. one heart beat into madness, unknown limits and a reincarnation of an essence so uncannily familiar— something I was born to live with. and I’m not sure if I should change. I’m not sure if I am that bold, brave,  rebellious . there is a darkness building up, a vigilant, antithetical crimson shade in me that wants to burn this past down in ambers so forceful.  I wonder if I could actually do it. pile up my matters and leave. escape into the wilderness of a romantic wicked dream. am I supposed to follow the shrouded scars’ calls into the slit of unknown bliss?  but I missed him. I missed him all this time. I missed how he held me so terribly close, his fingertips in every part of me I was petrified to touch. I missed how I just can’t help but love myself in his light. It’s like falling into the black hole of a star that burned so bright— that shrouded mystery of something so strong, so purely beautiful.