Adrift

The older we grow, the more of our mind's spaces we shut down. We shut them forever, allowing not a glimpse of the pristine faith that once resided in them. We shut them, leaving not a trace of the child's undemanding love, of the teenager's insatiable thirst, of the lover's boundless passion. Sometimes we paint over the artist's dream. Sometimes we burst the dreamer's bubble. These spaces, we shut them to the world, we shut them to ourselves.

Oftentimes wisdom from experience serves to mar the mind. This is not to say experiences do not leave us richer. But oftentimes wisdom brings with it reckless scars of memory. Unknowingly we change, unwillingly even. The metamorphosis however is thorough and clinical.

So I stand at the helm of my life, looking back instead of forward. I wish I could go back in time. Not to change anything. Just to be in that time instead of this. Just because my anchors are still planted there. Just to be childish, ignorant and cocky one more time. I stand at the helm of my life, knowing not where to go.

Fantasia

Here I sit at my table, trying to write to you. It's incredible how difficult I find it to tell you my thoughts. Maybe because I don't even know you. If I did, I would write you a ream. I would write you my dream. About our book of yellowing pictures. Echoes of your favorite songs. Crumbling letters of love and loss. If I knew you I would describe to you, that wrinkle on your nose, that curve of your brow, that shining brilliance of your smile. If I knew you I would write you lengthy verse. Of shy favors and ticklish whispers. Of moonlit nights and sweet surprise. If only I knew you...

Here I am, wondering if I can have you. If I could, I would etch my footsteps next to yours. Our fingers locked tight. My time ticking with yours. If I had you I would hide you in the crevices of my thoughts. Weave you into the seams of my dreams. Wrap you in frills of poetry. If I had you I would reel and swoon. And drown and merrily die. If only I had you...

Lessons galore

Need is not immutable. It is simply desire fooling the brain. And desire, of course, is whimsical as ever. 

Distance tarnishes memory rather quickly. My misery shuns company and has become best friends with silence instead. 

God does not hear your questions.  And it is always too late when life chooses to answer them. 

Obsession is not as easy as it seems. It can get quite tediously mathmatical as you try to work out all the possibilities in your head. 

Desperation cannot accelerate life. Neither can today's effort make up for yesterday's misdeeds. 

I spend most of my life chasing concepts that belonged to a more innocent me. 

Time and again I struggle to make the impossible choice between idealism and cynicism. I unfailingly choose the wrong one. 

Hope can be delusional. Pitiful as this may sound, ego is the only steadfast armor against denied hope.

Well! Well! Doesn't reality love to snatch away those rose tinted glasses?

Disappearing Constants

Everything comes with an expiry date. Most things in life are like medicines that turn poisonous over time. Excitement turns into ennui. Ennui becomes indifference. Novelty turns into routine which morphs into boredom. Knowledge turns into memory. Memories are forgotten. Intensity turns into weariness that slowly degenrates into inertia. Ambition turns into achievement. Achievement becomes mundane. Love turns into pain. Pain is replaced by numbness.

All that remains is a ceaseless obsession with details, an incurable insecurity and a deep fear of the unknown.