a daylight dream

hey.. I’m here. it’s okay.  I extend my hands, shuffling them for an answer. the mud is thick, inexorably so. I begin to wonder if it’s possible to breathe out here, and whether she had spent all this time panting in shallow breaths. please, just hold my hand. all I hear is silence. the sinking realisation that I won’t receive much from my efforts weighs me down. it is the kind of reaching out that has to happen with the heart’s eye. I see you , I whisper. she’s holding her knees up to her chest, hiding her face, smothered from the mud. her skin is fragile, almost cracked, her bones protruding miserably. I wish I could hear her cries, but it’s the silence of being swallowed by neglect. a lonely wave that drifted off into the narrowest container and is finally free to keep crashing violently onto the cracks of her skin to finally break something. although it’s dark in this corner of my heart she has chosen to sink in, I sit next to her, and she does not stir. her numbness is loud, s...

I look around my room before I leave. I scan it to make sure the wires are in their right places, but I can’t help but notice the dreams that surface before the gaze: these walls are cemented in visions instead of whatever keeps them intact. leaving, I realise they’re not only dreams. they’re painful moments, too. I hear the screams these walls have heard, the walls that witnessed me falling to the ground as I was being beaten, my belongings crashing into a million pieces and my pillow soaked in hours-long streams of tears. this blanket has touched my chest pent up with a longing dimmed with hopelessness. my carpets have been dusted with the debris of all my unsettled anxieties of never knowing how to move on with my life. my body often stops itself from seeing home. it’s almost an out-of-body experience to be living here. I step outside of myself into denial and numbness to be able to forget what this home was built by— and when denial gets too close to bursting into deep, inscrutable...

I feel a little inspired to get back to deep reflections. It’s the artistry of my life, after all— the act of engaging intentions and weaving narratives into the glory of how a single shift may change reality forever. my intention in April was to notice the grace in surrendering to the rivers of God’s wisdom, love and abundance. perhaps it was an intention forgotten most days since I have grown away from the habit of reflecting on my intentions, but now that I’m here, I find that it has truly been so. it’s a miracle that never fails me. April started truly beautifully in some ways. it started with an inspiration to make changes in my life, especially with my work life after being daunted by the torpidity of not being able to do what I love freely. you know that I usually feel bored especially when I feel like there is an obstacle from within me that is creating a lack of flow. unhealthily, I am always tempted to run away and start something new. I’m grateful I allowed myself a new ex...