Hellogoodbye

If I had a way to see this straight, I'd run away. 

Sniffles and Sneakers

So I found out that it's normal to feel broken sometimes. But like I said, sometimes, not all the damn time. Confession: I feel down most of the time, and I may or may not show it, either intentionally or otherwise.  Then there's this faint ray of light that bravely cuts through the storm and the rain clouds, giving me fresh hope and a rationed dose of happiness. And these moments have a nasty habit of being short-lived. Then back I go, lost at sea, rendered helpless on my little dinghy, being mercilessly beaten and tossed around by the waves of my insecurities, darkness and despair.
What happened to me? At what point in life did I lose myself? Okay so my life isn't totally spiralling out of control, it's just that I don't feel anchored. There's not one exact thing that I can hold on to, to know deep down that when I need it, it'll be there for me. Well, maybe not a something; a someone. Logically, a thing wouldn't be of much use since it's lifeless and all.
I need a someone to hold me by the arms and sit me down when I go crazy. To look me in the eye and know just what to say to calm me down, to reassure me that everything is going to be alright and that this shit pile in front of me isn't so big after all.
And after slight deliberation, I've come to a conclusion that there is no such thing as good grief. The person who coined the term must have been a real moron. Yes, it would be either that or his permanent address is in Lala-Land. That would explain a lot. I mean, think about it. No one is happy when they're sad. Maybe my theory isn't universal and can't be applied all the time, given. But almost all the time it would fit the situation. There's only bad grief, come to think of it. Say and think whatever, it doesn't change the fact that it's true.
At least one thing went right today. Norshahrul's picture came out in the newspaper, kissing his awards. *melts* Supermokh sial! Gomo, Kelate, gomo!
I want to start over. A new name, new address, new identity, new life.
Good God, I need to be rescued.  :(

Infinitesimally, por favor.

Where ever you are,

whoever you might be,

 I just thought
I should let you know that
I'm here.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Come quick. Be safe.
My prayers be with you.

To guard you
and keep you warm.

I need a hug.

I think I'm in love.

The Kid with a Thorn in His Side

You say that you love rain,

But you open your umbrella when it does.

You say you love the sun,

But you find a shadow spot when the sun shines.

You say you love the wind,

But you close your window when the wind blows.
That's why I am afraid, you say you love me too.

We? Oui.

"I think he likes you."
I most certainly hope so. I can't stand the stolen glances, sloppy hidden smiles, the slight fear in your eyes, the rigidity of your body and the language it conveys when I hit your radar. I'd like to believe that I'm making things up. It's almost like a cruel joke that seems to drag on infinitesimally. I'm not laughing. Well, sometimes I can't help myself so I do. On rare occasions.
Time is running out, like the grains of sand that beach-goers pick up and hold vainly in their hands, hoping to get a minute feel of stability and majesty but hoping otherwise at the same time. In the end the sand spills from between their fingers, to be carried away with the melody of the wind, to settle back down on the ground, only to be kicked up and scattered by passers-by.

 I tried to give you up but I'm addicted.

You're  something beautiful, a contradiction.

I'd never dream of faking this fixation.

The hands of the clock are incessant, persistant, stubborn. Another page is about to be ripped off from the face of the calendar, leaving it bare naked with only a solitary piece of paper for company to last for 31 days.
How time plays tricks on you. How it carefully and artistically deceives you, lulling you into false security, whispering little assurances when needed. A small word here, a graceful peck there and you're under it's spell. Good luck getting out from it's sticky web of lies. All those times spent with the people that hold paint brushes and color your life with their effortless strokes of happiness, working together on the potrait with furious intensity until one day you wake up and BAM! They're gone. Just like that. No, actually they're out there somewhere, just out of your reach and jurisdiction to make them be at your beck and call again. Then you start over, painstakingly. Strangers at square one. And you realize that all the hard work put into that masterpiece accounts for nothing because the potrait is only half-finished.
Deep down I realize that nothing might transpire. And this might only be this, nothing further, nothing else to fill. But I wish differently. An envious-conniving little bitch, that's what time is. And what is up with never-ending holidays that conveniently fall on Mondays? I may not see you again after December. And there's no point thinking the opposite, given the gargantuan proportions of the campus and the impossible class schedules. What are the odds that we'd be stuck in the same class again? Let's see: ZERO. Le sigh.
But in my dark corner of isolation, I'm silently praying for a miracle.

Taking Flight

Hi. I'd like to start by saying that I have a ginormous crush on you. It's uncomprehensible, unexplainable, and just outright baffling. I know, and it's almost unethical. All hormones, any which way you look at it.
You make me feel damned. Yes, sometimes you do. Half the time I spend in my waking hours is smiling like a complete and utter lunatic. A raving one at that. I don't really know the reason behind those smiles. All I know is I'm subdued by my flights of fancy. There's no logical explaination for it. Not one. None. Absolutely non-existent. Everything seems to be illogically convenient. But not really.
I wish I could just confirm my suspicions. Maybe put my mind at ease by finding out that you have a girlfriend or something. That would be for the best. But there's that little beacon of hope just refuses to go away. That sucks.
"He definitely has a reaction to you."
A positive one, I hope. What's going on? I'd like to know. Maybe I wouldn't. Which one would hurt less? Or would they garner the same amount of hurt? Life. That's what happens to the unsuspecting. I wish something amazing would miraculously happen. I always get what I want but somehow, in this department, I seem to fall short. Great.
Everyone else is happy. Everyone else is content. Everyone else is smiling. I want to be everyone else. How do some people get things effortlessly? Apparently I'm not some people or everyone else. I'm me. Good at times, bad at others.
I should be happy. But the heart yearns and and the heart hopes. The heart is dangerous. Volatile, indecisive.

It is a risk to love.

What if it doesn't work out?

Ah, but what if it does.

Peter McWilliams

In any case, will you be my Kurta Baby? <3

Just Shoot Me Already

You know that feeling?

When you're just waiting.

Waiting to go home to your room,

close the door, fall into bed,

and just let everything out that you've kept in all day.

That feeling of both relief and desperation.

Nothing is wrong.

But nothing is right either.

And you're tired.

Tired of everything, tired of nothing.

And you just want someone to be there

and tell you it's okay.

But no one's going to be there.

And you know you have to be strong for yourself,

because no one can fix you.

But you're tired of waiting.

Tired of having to be the one to fix yourself and everyone else.

Tired of being strong.

And for once, you just want it to be easy.

To be simple. To be helped. To be saved.

But you know you won't be.

But you're still hoping.

And you're still wishing.

And you're still staying strong and fighting.

With tears in your eyes,

you're fighting.