I don’t care if it takes countless sleepless nights and injured pride.
I want to recycle many wasted years, let my attempts be spoken, as my tongue is tied.
I will be right where the nonpareil is, where the nonpareil shines.
I want to be where the nonpareil collides.
Or am I not strayed?
Am I supposed to wander, directionless, because now that I’m finally unrestrained from the self-inflicted burdens and those strangling thoughts involving other people’s joy, I gain my rights to travel wherever my heart desires?
If life is vast and ever-expanding, giving me the world to look up to,
for what reason should I find my way back?
I don’t know myself anymore.
I need to find my way back.
This morning I cried myself hard in sleep for a very sad dream. Waking up to the last vestiges of tears streaming down the corner of my eye, I strangely felt so good, like an ordinary post-feeling after a great deal of sadness I am quite familiar with. I tried to remember what was so sad about the dream I had, but frankly it wasn’t that sad that I couldn’t continue crying. Was not satisfied enough, unknowingly I checked on what was going to be the lesson materials for my morning french lesson I was supposed to attend. Then I went back to sleep considering that it would not be too much loss if I skipped class, whereupon I amazingly had another very sad dream that I cried myself in sleep, again.
I don’t know why I did that or how it possibly happened, seeing how almost perfectly nonchalant I’ve been, though certainly I took joy from it and somehow proud because it is worth a month of mental fuel for my self-control. An emotional release that powerful enough, yet so delicate it won’t leave scar on the threadbare skin at the back of my hand. Such rare occasion, my friend, deserves a toast of celebration.
You both are the most interesting, lovely yet peculiar. I want to delve every inch of each of your body, every piece of each of your mind, your obsession, hatred, make final assignment about how to satisfy your needs and make you impressed, and get Master’s degree on the study of your lives. The only Master ever lived. I want to be a fly on each of your wall.
If you know how obsessed I am with both of you, you would look at me with your beautiful judging eyes and run away, hand in hand, with your delicate moves.
Too forgetful for my own good. I should’ve known better that beautiful choice of words doesn’t come easy. Fuck.
You’re the closest, the one she has spent the longest period of her life with, the quirkiest, most humane, sometimes exhorting, whilst dominantly iffy.
But why the resistance? Why can’t she compromise to love you the most?