I wonder about the kind of bleakness you get from this. Are you one of the weary ones who surrender to the apparent gloom? Do you slide that tired soul in the sheets and quench a quintessential rest, unfazed by the menacing forces and wait until sleep consumes your whole being. Are you like the ones who carry a heavy heart? The ones belittling the liberating power acquiescence to letting go and moving on. Brazing imaginary fetters to the memories of a not so happy times of the past. Will the sad sight rekindles all the eclipsed scars and pains and relive the old days. Do you realize that you’re missing the gift of the present?. Are you one of those sucker for solitude? Do you see this as a moment calibrated to perfection,where and when the absence of light sublimes your need to function in the recesses of social touches. Does listening to the reverberating footsteps, the sound of your own heartbeat teeming with abandoned struggle tantamount to equanimity? And is that sense of well being in equanimity commensurate to peace. Are you the romantic, the dreamer who sees another poignant scene? That beyond monotonous shade of the blinds there’s a beautiful moon that casts a pallid glow. Do you feel an insatiable agitation to create when you gain a sense of distance to the world. Do you see it as a chance to collect all the shattered fragments and with all the romanticizations solve the puzzle? Are you one of the romantic hearts brimming with unprecedented optimism that there’s a hidden beauty even in the bleakest states. 

Who are you in the face of sadness?

(This is my first collaboration with the talented Ariana @ superavenue. Her photograph, my words. Send some love to her.)

(Source: pseudoperfection)

I DON’T KNOW WHAT I CAN SAVE YOU FROM

PSEUDOPERFECTION:

I am okay. I guess that’s fair way to start this, right? Let’s open this book for one last time and maybe bury things from the past, to where they belong. I don’t know if you are aware of how you make me feel about some certain things and pardon me if I never gathered the balls to tell you this and convey clarity in my words. Allow me to be ambiguous for one more. I’m starting to lose faith in this story, truth be told. I don’t want you to just introduce me to a moment, I want you to breathe life in its characters, I want us in every single pages and chapters. I want you to stay with me struggling over conflicts and win over villains and antagonists. I want this tale to see us in its climax, because this is our story. I am not asking you to reciprocate everything, I just need you to be consistent and reasonable enough. I’ve been wearing this heart on my sleeve since day one, extending my hands just to make sure you fall unscathed. And you know that if only I have the means, I will ditch my life here and conquer miles just to be with you. That place with its palaces and population having the same number, the promise of snow in winters and its people with sexy accent is not a bad place to start a life after all. But, I don’t have the luxury to move, yet. You’ve been telling me not to keep my hopes up, thank you. Tell my mind not to, but my heart has its own sets of judgement. You are not the only one who has a say in this, I do too. All I want is to be strong enough and be ready, and so were you, and so are you.

GIFTEDANDUNSCRIPTED

There are times where I feel content with my current state of being and then all of a sudden my life flashes sending a flood of unrequested thoughts; all surrounding you. I don’t know what it is about us that just makes what we are, what we do or what we want so damn complex. There is so much that you want from this and so much that I am not yet willing to give. Who is to say that what you see with me is the same as to what I see with you? That is the downfall of committing to an idea before you commit to the person. In your head and in your heart you are wrapped around this fictitious notion that we are to be seen as one and live within this unbreakable vase of unity. Within this vase you have painted the picture of what I would like to call irrationality alongside of this figurative reality that we could conquer all. I’m not ready to delve into this version of the world with you, my heart is flattered but my mind sees more than just you. Of all the places we can go and of all the things we can do, I see myself being restricted by the thought of my life being sync’d to you. I send my love and I grasp onto your words and pray that you find the one that could give you what you deserve. For I am just another character misplaced into your tale, I robbed you of your sense of judgment, and instead of apologizing I’ll bid you a farewell.

I want my mind to run on tangled thoughts. That overwhelming handful of things to sort upon, or do they call it stimuli in science. There’s this burgeoning drag for people indulge into Zen, or some commercial shops that guarantee temporary well being, and it makes me think how I complicate that idea, when it requires cake to understand. I just don’t want my life to run on smooth sailing, honestly it scares the hell out of me, all the way to my bones. When things start to go so right, I feel so wrong, it is a menace to my halcyon days. I need thoughts to distract me to the lurking death, or events that rob the sun out of me, external forces that I have no power over. Career hassles will do, everyday problems will do. early middle-age crisis will do, relationship issues will do and this whole where-I’m-at-in-life thing, I call it dibs. Yes, they are good distractors for me. When everything seems going well, my mind forces me to think the things I fear the most— Mom catching illness brought by her menopausal stage, or father running on a cliff, or my siblings getting involved in any trouble or myself developing some terminal condition, that is gross.

I just need things to fill this head. It makes me feel alive, and my pseudo-perfections are enough to keep my sanity.

Artwork by Nlnd.

Heart in hand: Pseudoperfection:

pseudoperfection:

When was the last time he saw a smile on her face, it must have been around this time last year.

He can’t remember their last conversation, a good conversation to specify, was it two weeks ago, a month from now? Scratch. Reckoning is dragging him off, and this is no time to entertain the invitation of the dark side. He has to be the man he once was; has to be strong, has to steer this ship in the right direction. She on the other side is waiting, always has. Though things are uncertain out there, he can feel his heartbeat, intense enough, willed enough to make things right. To put the pieces to where they belong. The same heartbeat that silenced the world, the pessimism and the fears that lurk with it.

He saw her last night, and forever flickered. She is still the same girl he knew, same girl he adores. Her face bears an amber glow, flawless and ethereal, a joy to look at. He doesn’t need guilt to wrapped his mind around, to make it a fuel to correct the wrong, there’s something more than it that draws him. and with that, he is sure. He could have apologized, hugged her in the scene and pour it all, if they were an arm’s length. He can’t believe it, he hurt her. And he has to go for the missing link. For what that bright expression that seems to suggest a smile fails to conceal.
She needs him, he feels the same.

In seeing her, the relief is huge. The things he’d missed while they were apart from each other is too much to bear at the same time. What concerns him now is to grab what’s left and not mourn over what’s lost. He got a chance, and he’s not going to let it pass. In seeing her, he realized, he is cracking a door, allowing light in, illuminating a room into what has for months been an all black interior. And his smile that lay tormented when she’s gone; has to feel a genuine sense.

“And I’ll drive for two hours, to bring butterfingers. I don’t mind the distance, this kismet’s a dance”, sings his favorite song on the stereo. He saw her and immediately got out of the car. She saw him too, and hesitates in the process. He grabbed her hands, she looked at him. All her waiting moment and all his effort to find her had led to this moment. What died for months will again see colors, and they will not themselves again be blinded. His words rife with sincerity, searching muslin haze for streaks of clarity. He finally manages to say speak…

When was the last time I saw you smile? It must have been around this time last year.

ethereal-sprite

The imaginary blindfold itched at her eyelids, and she wondered when it would go away, or had it always been there? Had she be born with this hindrance to her sight? She could have sworn the sky was bluer than it was now, the sun warmer on her skin and the trees greener in the spring. It had all faded since he left, had been washed away by the tears that she denied she let fall. The time was counted, but never really felt, never really lived or breathed it, it became the past sooner than it became the present, but thinking that made her miss the time past even more. Like as she tried to collect the fallen pieces of herself off the floor, the empty spaces became more apparent and she stroked them with longing fingers, only to curse them as she realized. Allowing such thoughts to grow in her head would not help her; she stifled her heart and smothered it, in hopes of it forgetting, as her eyes forgot the feeling of losing themselves in bluer skies.

Forgetting never bid her well; people in the street could easily be him. His hair colour. His eyes. His favourite colour. Everything was tied to something else, an invisible tagline and inscribed with him. His scent. His smile. The feeling of his eyes on her. It was always slightly there, and slightly not, and she tried her hardest not to look. Not to glance around, anticipating. Anxious and nervous to find him standing by. But she held her eyes as she held the smile, with broken glass in the corners and the determination to pretend a little while longer. If she looked, she would be sure, as her eyes traced around the faces and the places, she would surely not find him, and with it, not be able to hope. Hope he was waiting on the edge, hope he was stepping towards her, hope he was just a little lost. Looking would make the lack of him real, substantial, proven. Looking and not seeing him, was like glancing at her ringing phone and reading the number, for a spilt second it could be him, and a split second later, it was not.

His shoes. His laugh. His favourite song.

The sound of his favourite song and his face snatched her attention, making her pause in step. The rapid drum of her heartbeat in her fingertips left her breathless, unsure of the truth before her. So many times she had sworn to have seen him, and found the reality wearing a mask, and a façade of kindness. She lowered her gaze, apprehensive, fearful of looking to not find him, scared of deception. Each step closer left her scrabbling to catch her heart before it escaped her lips and the warmth of his hands on hers drew her eyes up to his. The blindfold was dropped and lost, as she found herself surrounded by colour and life, blooming from the corners of her eyes. Her lungs drew in oxygen to its deepest points, as if she’d been slowly drowning in their separation and only now could breathe. The sound of his voice eased her, even with her heart thudding against the inside of her ribcage, eagerly attempting to gain his attention.

As if habit, her lips curved into a smile as her eyes tried to capture him, everything. All those times she saw him before, felt like they were merely washed photographs, sketches and outlines, shadows and ghosts. Before her now, was life, and paint, and colours, and it hit her so suddenly that she could not completely fathom it. A breath out and her mind finally finding the connections to her lips, her voice…

Then it must be a year since I saw anything as amazing.

(Source: my-dear-haphephobic-heart)

CYNICAL, WHO? (A Collaboration)

CHERRYLISRAINDROPS wrote:

Currently squeezing my brain out just to come up with thoughts that would equate this awareness of my being almost nothing, to atleast vindicate for this state of abyss as if I am falling lighter than snow.

There is the feeling of annoyance in failing to recognize substance, annoyance to the world because you know it too well- and it is not even the time to be wise. Annoyance because you don’t even know if that term agrees even just a part of what you feel.

And then you settle for whats on your side.You get contented for the sugary coffee little sister made. Because she’s too young for a cynic like you. All your life you wanted to be older. Now, all you hope for is to attract the sun and bring it with you in bed.

PSEUDOPERFECTION wrote:

Rereading your letter, making sense of your words, words I tried to discard, to make them parallel to nothing. Words you patiently collect to throw right on my face, like stones resembling part judgement. And I thought I’ll just let this slip away, but turning my back requires more energy, and I’m weak. So I’ll situate myself in front of you, to appeal, to correct because your words cut like daggers, and I’m scarred.

You made me feel how corrupted I am with my dreams, for settling for what’s less, and for leaving me dumbfounded while I am planning for another escape. What this note contains are implication of how little I know while you are there, from afar signalling that I know my world, this world too well. Do I put too much butterflies, flowers and sunshine in my words, or do I approach things the complicated way.

Do I overthink?, are you serious?. Are my ideas far-fetched?, are you even listening? All I’m asking is an open mind when I’m rapturous, when the cup of my emotions— my fears, my pains, my soul, my happiness, my love spill, let it be.  When I want a place to play, you should at least let me squat on that abandoned field.  I want to skip your sermons, when I leave bloodstains in your carpeted floor. Because I want to sense consistency on the skin you’re making me see, don’t make me believe that knowing nothing is better than knowing it all.

My heartaches are versed in the songs I wrote, even the happy ones, my heavy heart finds a safe refuge in its chorus. How frail I am is depicted on the characters I create on my fiction stories. And my longing and despair to care for the girl I love— the girl who is out of reach, the one who is never here plays like a broken record on my fantasies. You cannot blame me for reaching for here through wishful thinking, because there’s no way I can’t fit her in the confines of my reality. Now tell me why I shouldn’t settle for cakes and sugar.

Hey, maybe calling me a “cynic”is an overstatement.

HELL AND BACK

PSEUDOPERFECTION:

It saddens me crossing a line, a confine filled with heartbreaks and lost hopes, I wish I didn’t see to begin. A corner with no defenses, instances when I wish to retrieve my steps and turn my back to falter my growing consciousness to the ugly side of relationship and commitments. It leaves me tear-eyed, sensing young hearts giving up to the promise of love, experiencing juvenile empathies, siding to the joy, pain, youth, discoveries and lessons with the other person, to the opposite sex. And collects frustration, drags self esteem to the ground in the long run. Not only because reality and their expectations didn’t meet, not because they fail to comprehend its intricacies, but they thought it has to do with love. There’s something queer about people fixated with the idea about music parallel to the saddest songs, about short stories into tragedies, essays in a page or two that tell how hurt they are, how weak their faith, sealed with tears, signed with pains. Love is supposed to be the warmth of the rising sun after a cold night, your lamp that lights your way to the end of the tunnel, your parachute on a skydive, an oasis for desert nomads, a familiar trail for the lost travellers. It is this precious, it saves, it defines hope and faith. A magic itself, a mystery in every way.

Love and waning hope in it, justify please?

PANDORASBOAT:

You are seeing this, from a line of deception, abandonment, hatred and pain. Yes, cornered hearts filled with more reasons to attack than defend, more hope in dying than breathing a last gasp of air. These hearts are glancing at you with envy and glory; you are the heart that is constantly beating while their pulses are “waning”. You are still yet to go through the battlefield that is lurking with serpents of deception, you are still yet to fall off a cliff, you are still yet to be bombed with accusations and agony. You are barricaded from this, you have seen the damage and you know to trespass no longer on the decaying trails of travelers. Because you have seen our corpses, you have smelt the cold blood that is trickling from our veins.

Love is indeed magic, and we are contorted of colors from it. We are the examples of abandoned love and it is unjustifiable.

LIE.TO.ME.

PSEUDOPERFECTION wrote:

Whisper in my ears words that I want to hear. Read my mind so you’ll verbalize exactly what I want to hear, even if you don’t feel them, even if you’re going to fake them. I am not asking you to reciprocate everything but tell me that you’ll stay, and that you don’t want me to let go. Tell me that you want me to skim the oceans that separate us, and that you want me right beside you, like real bad, to walk you home, to sing you songs. Tell me that I don’t look old with my glasses and I look fine with my hair unkempt. Say that you don’t find my lines mushy at all, that I appear poetic trying to make my words rhyme, even if they’re not. Say, just say, that my touch secures, that this winter air doesn’t make you feel cold, because I am next to you. Tell me you want me, not only for tonight, not only for tonight.

That lack of honesty— that’s exactly what I need.

THEYWANTYOUTOTAKETHEROLLS wrote:

I can lie to you, but I want to disguise the fact that what I’m about to say isn’t true. You see, I love you. Dwell on that for a second. You see, I love you. I want to pump the breaks in this conversation, and make you feel utterly speechless and weakened by this love I feel. I know, “I love you,” is used to fill the breaks in a conversation, and pump reason into why you can’t leave someone making you feel utterly useless, but tonight that isn’t the case. I want to be the addiction you can’t live without. I want you to love my love and share what I feel, even if for the moment it isn’t all that it’s supposed to be. Lie to you? So easy to do since I’ve been lying to myself. But for the moment let’s not focus on the artifice that may be bringing us together for the night; let’s just be one in the same. I want to use you to escape my pain. I want our love to captivate the lost souls who got lost in the immensity of love. (Hell, I got lost in the immensity of love.) But I’ll pretend that’s what I’m not hiding from, as I lean over to kiss you and whisper, “I love you.” To make this all complete, I now need you to lie back to me.

DELIRIUM

PSEUDOPERFECTION wrote:

I have a ghost inside me. 
A ghost that possesses and turn me into an unfamiliar being. A diseases that pollutes my system and causes decay to every inch of my skin. A fear that sends shivers to every nerve in my body. A venom that will soon paralyze me, an accident that cripples my legs, a monster that admits me into solitary confinement and boxes me out from the touches of the world.

I am trying to be free.  
Being very cautious to slide through doors, orchestrating my heavy steps into flies so she wouldn’t notice that I runaway for the night. I been forcing my heart to skip a beat for she might hear its frantic rhythms. I hope to edify my senses, organize my thoughts trying to sound reasonable out of the million pathetic excuses I have.

I am unpredictable. 
My heart is cold as cold as the clouds of my breath. I long to be heard but I prefer to zip this mouth for I feel bitter and more likely than not my words will cut like knives. Dare me not— I am a walking time-bomb and the impending destruction is inevitable. Fear not— you will not suffer for long, we will explode in split seconds and turns into dust in a blink of an eye. Not even screams be possible.

Forgive my indiscretion but I mean you no harm. I am acquainting you to the struggles within. To illustrate why I embrace naiveté like my own child. Why I present myself as the coward soldier, the weaker warrior or the timid beast. Sooner, I will defeat the monsters and unfetter from its chain, make the ghost go away and define myself. And I’ll focus on my strength and overcome my weakness. That’s the time when I can affirm my worth to you.

Do you still want to be with me?

CORTNEYWHITE wrote:

A smirk teases my lips as your words filter through my mind.  Your complex simplicity still holds the same allure as the day we met, only tonight I’m unsure which side of you I enjoy the best.  You see, darling, I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time. That ghost you speak of is no stranger to me.  But the difference between you and I is that my soul craves the blood of the innocent. Of the weak and timid.  Just like those you pretend to be to deny your true self the freedom you seek.

If you seek it at all.

Because, sweetheart, it takes a liar but a moment to figure out the truth and disguise his fear with the comfort of self assurance. This so called weakness you wish to defeat is my strength. I embrace the rush of poison pumping from my heart like a heroin addict to his injection. The urge to twist the words out of your mouth cause my fingers to twitch. But that’s bad form to murder a lover when I am guilty of the same crime, don’t you think?

Show me what’s left of your dignity and fight like the animal pacing inside your ribcage. This is not a dream. Not even a nightmare. This is reality, my love, and I’m aching with the desire to punish those in denial.  I believe you are exactly the pathetic, coward hearted thing you’ve been pretending to be all these years. I dare you, yes, dare you to prove me wrong. Let’s explode this tragic misunderstanding in a fire of rage and passion gone south.  

Don’t think I can’t see the glow in your eyes. Don’t think I can’t feel the heat in your touch. The ghost of the beasts clawing in our souls want out.  Here’s the key, darling, will you unlock the cage or will you simply tell me I’m just delirious?

BEAUTY IN THE BREAKDOWN

PSEUDOPERFECTION wrote:

Let me invade the heart and mind of the infatuated; familiarize me with every inch of its bliss and all the temporaries that fall to its confines. Spare me the drug that caused your highs or teach me to unfetter from all my maladies—or my senses themselves as I transcend, living my Utopian dream and escape from the touches and my orientation of everything real. Allow me to sing the song of the stars or be mesmerized by the patterns situated beautifully in the Northern Sky. Place me in front of the gods and goddesses. Permit me to aim Eros’ arrow to the hardened hearts, steal Zeus’ lightning, be lured by Medusa’s eyes or free all the devils from Pandora’s box—let me intervene their affairs for no reason.

Let me woo you with prose or poetry, or be serenaded by the songs of my smitten heart. Let me free fall and defy gravity as I bewilder with how you fascinate me. Love—maybe, mere admiration—perhaps. Stay with me in these cold summer nights,  let’s talk in a far different fashion, or just be lost in this awkward silence. Or just spell promises that we never really mean to keep.

Prove to me that there’s a thrill in eternity or acquiesce with my skepticism that it doesn’t exist to begin with. Take me to Atlantis or Lemuria. Allow me to cross in your reveries or clothe me like the monster in your nightmares. Perfect me to meet you lofty standards, fool me to mask your mundane desires or alienate me to the in betweens—for I am unfazed to be hurt. Beat me until I become frailty, too frail to break into pieces in just a single blow.

Teach me resilience. Negate my odd beliefs and renew my once unblemished hope.

MYELEPHANTINE wrote:

Allow me to demonstrate what a possibility of love this can be, illustrate to you in a carefully crafted prose how I wish to break in to your heart and vandalize it’s walls with my name.  I don’t think the entire conglomerate of words ever made can evoke the same passion behind what I’m trying to convey.  My desire to encapsulate myself in your thought and set you in a lucid reverie is far too great, far too grand to simply say that I wish I was on your mind.  I wish for more than that.  I wish to be to your ink when you’re poeming about true love.  I wish to hear my name roll off the tip of your tongue and wish to be the thought in your head when you’re caught in a wanderlust.  This is me, letting my tangled thoughts unfurl onto a screen in eloquent sentences constructed of carefully matched words to form a simple symphony.  This is my heart singing a song specifically written for you, my fingers gliding over keys, orchestrating my muted thoughts and hopes and dreams.  This is me, reaching out for you, banging against the walls of your subconscious mind, crying out let me in!  Set me your dreams so that I can fight away all your fears and plant seeds of love everywhere and let them grow to something you can’t contain anymore.  Take my hand and allow me to lead you to what is called forever more.  Take my hand and walk with me thru the many avenues of love’s complexity.  Take my hand in yours and simply follow me back to my heart.

I WONDER

HER:

I wonder if you would answer if I called.

HIM:

I’ve been orchestrating answers, I wonder if these come out right when I hear your voice.

HER:

I’ve memorized your number in the times I’ve tried to call and never really dialed, and I’ve told my finger to slip, to hit the button I carefully avoid to press, because I’m scared, the connection of the phone line maybe the only connection and it maybe too late to hang up and redial, and find you all over again.

HIM:

I am hovering on this fine line of romanticizing and actualizing. I can feel your intentions, the urge to make things clear. Yes, I know you that well and believe me, not doing the first move inflicts a deeper wound. Maybe patience will not work for me now. Maybe, what do you think?

HER:

But thinking and doing are on different sides of an ocean, and I don’t dare tread it for fear of drowning, and I know why you don’t either, we’re both stones on shores with dreams of skimming over water, but in the end, we still weigh our options, our percentages and past trials, and can’t help but come to the bottom line, things don’t work out most of the time, and what makes this time different?

HIM:

I don’t want to spoil chances, for I know even the most hopeful of hearts get tired, even faith made of steel rusts, dents and breaks over time. There’s no room for complacency, no, not specially now. The sun is already rising but things seem to be crippled in motion, and mind is no exception. Bend or break?

HER:

I believe bending breeds only deformity of the soul, and I wonder if mine will ever become what it once was after years of contorting myself to fit shadows, and I question whether I should break, I question what its worth to keep fight, and if I burnt myself to the ground would a phoenix rebirth in my ashes, would the act of breaking be the end or only a new beginning? I fear the answer I don’t know and I’m balancing on this line trying to not fall on either side. But how long can this last, I’m exhausted and tired, and on the verge of falling.

HIM:

You’re thinking to much baby, or my words and gestures fail to convey what it needs to. I believe apologies won’t make a difference this time. Wherever you fall, and however distorted your faith maybe, I am here to catch you. Yes, this time, I am going to make it clear, don’t want you to guess anymore. Have you heard enough, so, forever?

DEFY

ETHEREAL-SPRITE wrote:

My eyes wake from a night of dreams, with a yawn, and a tug on my blankets I roll over, and fall into day dreams of you, and your blue eyes, and that smile.

PSEUDOPERFECTION wrote:

I love to venture in these spaces, skipping from page to page but never fail to turn in your direction. What started as a day of lame reasons, morning yawns and dull expectations were stuffed in oblivion. You motivate me to fly baby.

I am still defying reality that you’re out of reach. (Sigh)

(Source: my-dear-haphephobic-heart)

I MISS YOU

 EKOH:

I miss you, not in the sense that you are gone. But in the sense that, I know you, you are my home, my warm bed and a fireplace, and I am homesick. I am faraway and I just want that familiar comfort, that safety and warmth. I want to be where I know, and that’s next to you. Not out here in the world that gives no answers and holds no shelter for me. Not out in the world that tells me I cannot do anything. I want to be home, with you, under your arm and talking about everything we can do and make, and how no one can stop us. At home, where no one can keep us apart and maybe with you, the house wont be as big, and the televisions not as sleek, but even you must realize, a house is not a home, unless its filled with the hearts of who you love, and my home, my home is with you.

I want to be home, take me home with you.

PSEUDOPERFECTION:

I miss you, no not because of the fact that you’re miles away, no not also because you are having a good time right now, seeing new place, or maybe meet some other guy, neither because my phone beeps of ghost not sensing your messages or call. I miss you because you are my worst pain, but you have nothing to do with it. I miss you for not taking chances, while the signs suggest that I am in the right place at the right time.

My worst pains are not the realities that this is a one-sided love, not on times when I walk you from school to your doorstep to listen to your stories, stories that tell someone else’s. Your eyes were my muse, yet I’m appalled with uncertainties, for what I seek and what you converse contradict. Yet, those aren’t the worst pains.

My worst pains are words I cannot say. Words that hang on the tip of my tongue. Words I need to break yet I cannot verbalize. Words that run in circles on my head yet I cannot connect. I hope you can hear me now.

Miss me too?

WHY TUMBLR

EKOH:

Tumblr feels kind of like a school to me, and the dash is the lunchroom, or classroom, or the bathroom stall. There’s constant chatter, and I can see each person, and the people they talk with, the friendships and relationships, the new kids and the more experienced ones. The ones with history and the ones who just met. They all speak in their own voices, whether its expression of emotion, a secret scribbled in pen in the bathroom or a questioned asked. Maybe a group task, or a short partnership where people join their minds and words. My tumblr dash is definitely the coolest place to hang out.

PSEUDOPERFECTION:

Tumblr feels like an alternate heaven for me, a safe haven adjacent to to the wooden box where I keep the key to my Summerland. And when I’m not there, in the confines of my sublime escape I fill most of my waking hours musing over how free and easy it is to breathe here. It is my gentle imply of disgust to the loud, the fad and the cheap discourse of the other social networking sites. This place blinds the prying senses of the people who want me fail, the ones who stress what I can’t and leaves no second thoughts in burying the significant things I did and will. Tumblr guarantees me that the people who inspire me with their writings and photographs are just “asks” away and not just settle, dreaming and looking at them like gods far, far from reach. At least I am assured that they aren’t zoombies. Yes, this is a school out of school, learning beyond the conventional. That is why I am in these spaces.

(Source: my-dear-haphephobic-heart)

DREAMS FOR YOU, YOU FOR ME

EKOH:

My dreams were like flowers, fragile and just blooming with spring, each petal spreading forth and reaching for the sun, I blinked my eyes, and now they’ve become crushed under foot, the colours crumpled and stems snapped. The sweet center burst and in golden pieces on the floor, painting the concrete path. I sit by my broken dreams, and feel the wind rush past… There goes my dreams, away into the world, with no protection, or future life, I can only hope they get taken high enough, and find the sun they were stretching up towards.

PSEUDOPERFECTION:

My dreams are wished granted as I exhaled a gentle breathe scattering the fluffy dandelion seeds from all over. I love to collect them putting back perfectly as it was to wish again and again, dream again and again. My dreams allow me to skip jump a magic carpet for I am free to drift, flying, and jumping from clouds to clouds. And as I lay my back to that soft bed, I’ll get lost to the weightlessness I feel, fascinated head over hells as I reach for the sky. And yes like you my pain ends where my dreams begin, heartaches mend when these eyes shut. And I’ll brush everything I find impossible for they’ll all come true once the lightning strikes. I’ll chase my fears, fall unscathed as I flap my wings before touching the ground. I surrender affinity to what’s real, let me sing, let me dream. *Lalalalala.

UNDER THE SYCAMORE TREE

PSEUDOPERFECTION:

I’ve been in these clouds for hours, free and breathing. Here I can meet your gaze while conversing, can say what I intend to say and can hold your hands until forever. Though my reign is based on wishful thinking I am living like a king. This place knows no restrictions, no admittance to social symphonies and the normalcy they insinuate to be the just, right and cool. No cliques, no elites, no superstars, no limelight and the million other levels and labels set by some fooly souls. No promises, no lies, no heartbreaks, no time and no space. And by the way don’t call me just yet, I don’t miss the feeling of touching the ground. I won’t be there tomorrow and maybe not anytime soon.

Call me an escapist, a coward and weak. I’ve had enough of those. And baby, did I just mention that I swallow and digest them as compliments, crave for them like my guilty pleasures and worship them as my idols. For it requires one to be weak to see the strength of the strong ones, to be submissive to defeat the powerful. To dwell on the escape they deserve, to revive their weary souls, heavy heart and tortured minds from keeping pace with this so called life and reality.

Stop complaining and take my invitation. I would love to have you here. Sit beside me and throw the worries away. That soft, green meadow, the lovely trees, and the mountains that stretch beyond the horizon are meant for us to to wander and explore. Take my hand, dream this dream with me.

MYELEPHANTINE:

Your words run deep thru my hallow veins, filling the vacant lot of my heart.  I, too, drift upon this meadow and between its trees.  That mountain that stretches, is not far but within my reach.  Memories have filled your cup and drunken you with sorrow, blinding you from reality as your thoughts escape in a dream.  And I meet you here, under clouds, beneath a sycamore tree and lament over your wailing heart.  

You talk of fools and wishes and reveries and I want to reach out to you, I want you for keeps.  But instead, you silence me with your desire to remain suspended in this daydream.  I listen to you speak, chronicling your wants and your needs.  You want me by your side, need my hand in yours and I can’t even conjure a teardrop from this barren soul to vent the pain that’s taking over me.  

Baby, can’t you see that I’m always there with you?  Can’t you feel my cold hand caressing you?  I watch you while you speak and haunt you while you sleep.  I drift silently in your shadows and manifest myself in dreams.  Can’t you see me looking over your shoulder while you shave and brush your teeth?  Can’t you feel me at all?  I can’t take your hand nor your invitation.  You know I can’t.  I’m forever caught in a breeze.  I’ll sit by your bed every night and tearlessy weep because it is I who can’t have you.  It is my invitation I must keep.  I want to have you, take you with me, but I’ve lost my heartbeat.  Here beneath this sycamore tree is where you’ll find me. In my grave, waiting for keeps.