Hurt, hurt,and hurt...

I had a chat with my friend today, and it came to touch an issue that came to my attention. She says "I don't wonder why things happen, I just ignore it and keep smiling. I don't hurt others for what I want. And I think feeling hurt for others is a waste of time and energy when the others don't care."

A sudden surge of emotion swept through me, one which I didn't recognize immediately. All these while I walk around the place, seeing banners in promotion of humanity for it is diminishing, reading news of wars taking place, picking snippets of murder cases and other heinous acts, watching people live with a proud unfounded ego. And I wonder about the causes of all this. Part of the answer is so near; there are so many people that cares solely for themselves. Surely as a human, we aren't born this way??? So what happened???

I do no know the answer, and that is not the main concern for this entry either.

THESE people, are the roots of the chaos spreading among humanity. When you don't wonder why things happen,you will not care to learn about the story. When you don't learn about the stories, you won't learn about the people whom you've hurt unknowingly. And since you don't know, you will keep on going hurting people around you.

Up to this point, I can already fathom what's needed to be.

"So I have to care or feel hurt for every single person that cares for me? how pathetic."
These are the last words from her tonight.

Now I recognize that feeling that pulsed through a moment back; it was sadness and pity.

Shoes

Embracing my feet, is a pair of shoes.

The solace of warmth that sheaths my feet as I tread the cold hard earth. Every step is an effort meant to hurt, yet safely tucked within these fabrics meant to deceive. Of the occasions in attempt of mischief, we bare our feet on the annoying sands, adhering bits of sore into the secluded comfort.

Why?

Because it means bittersweet memories now walks with us. From an experience we do not wish to forget, we taint the warmth of embrace upon our feet. The amelioration of this prickly ambient blessed on our feet, is not something matched by the mere strength of words. But the same could not be said for the more languid self.

Not for the mind, but for the heart.

If I could savor such warmth and comfort to my heart as to my feet. Will I renounce the tears I shed for endeavors not spoken? I do not know. If there is a pair of shoes for my heart, will I be brave enough to achieve what I set out to attain? My heart is walking the thorny path of dead roses. Bleeding still, the wounds grew deeper with every step I take. Numb, from the shivering frost of seclusion, unlike that of my feet.



I want a pair of shoes for my heart.
I would rather weep from the pains of mortal wounds, than sob from the barefooted heart.


*Inspired by Gerviene, entry on April 09 2010.

When you know its not infatuation...

Drifting down the morbid sequence of everyday life, we seek out thrills that comes so profoundly the moment we need it. We will pursuit the temporary, knowing it will die before us. Momentarily indulge in the illusive satisfaction, knowing that is not what we're truly looking for. Tainting the meaning of sadness, manipulating it as a cover up. Because at that moment, sanity sounds reproachful alongside reality. These short-lived deceits seem so welcoming, and somewhere inside us we hear a distant desire. They sound so familiar, but in truth a stranger. A stranger that promises harm especially when you let them into your heart. That stranger goes by the name "infatuation".

How do I tell this stranger apart?

You know it is not when your breathes are taken away from you.
You know it is not when you can conjure no malice.
You know it is not when all others dull in comparison.
You know it is not when you can't give it up without killing yourself.
You know it is not when the thought of losing it overcomes the fear of death.
You know it is not when time fails to provide erosion.
You know it is not when it only come once in a lifetime.
And that when you know it is too late...

I will never settle for infatuations, because I can never be...

The Meaning of Writing

I couldn't even think of where to start, when I question myself what it means to write here, now. For obvious reasons, I started on this perpetual routine of writing a record of my random thoughts at the presence to remind myself what crossed my unfathomable psychological conscience. But ever thought of just what, exactly, is taking place and is it worthy of attention? Should I deny myself of this impulsive urge to post a string of pragmatical sentences which derived from perhaps a unimportant figure such as myself, will anything change?

Yes.

An idea is only a whim of conjured thoughts restricted to yourself if you are unable to present or share it. Describing it in a more comprehensive term; useless. An idea is not perfect at its birth, it needs to be molded by intervening minds which is cynically trying to destroy it. Only by persevering through such irony will it be deemed 'useful'. And how, exactly, are we able to do it? We write it out. Its a form of record for the development of conjugated thoughts, condensing from languid wisps of uncertainties to a solid wall of logic defeating the orthodox. Remember that writing, even if its just a simple diary, is the trajectory path to the birth of something impressive.

Now, a fool will read the surface and leave it be while the wise will reach out for the depth.

Does writing serves only technical purposes? No, my dears, definitely not. Right now at this exact moment, I am writing out what serves a bigger purpose than the former mentioned, and has definitely more to it than meets the eye. Writing is actually a sanctified time for the writer where he or she can confront themselves. As words from yourselves appear in front of you, you are actually reading from what is within yourselves. No one else can truly engage the sentiments imbued into these little symbols replacing speech but the writers themselves. When the finishing touch has been laid, you will see a piece of yourself manifesting within these scratches and scribbles. These are your thoughts, your feelings, your emotions; a little piece of you. And like all parents are proud of their child, writers, too, will relief in marvel of his own piece. Though, such feelings are entirely personal and unperceived by any others.

A post for myself...

To think that I haven't any idea how to start a blog, is despicable. One of those times, again. The single passing moment when a gazillion module of thoughts just cascaded into your head, drowning you in a few seconds of blissful thoughts, then came the crashing despair that you can't seem to hold on to any one of it. Speaking of a leaking sandbox, impromptu memories and merry times tags the trickling sands of time as well; the next second its all gone.

So what happened, exactly? The putrid miasma that lingered around my wake had elevated for the last few days...Its a contrast of priorities, and of what we hold dear. Even in escape, there is no solace for the weak of heart. Pain follows. Knowing it and having it thrown at your face is two different things, where the latter can shed a ludicrous amount of tears bore from the eyes of the former's beholder.

Run, even the heaviest heart could not weight me down, for I'm a coward that's had enough of dubious dreams.

No one knew, no one will...

3 Drops Away...

The rain had passed, leaving a hazy drizzle of moist in the air. Inhales bring with it a calm soothe that creeps all the way to the heart, assimilating purity with the putridity within myself. Yes, cleanse me please, for unknown to anyone I am rotting from within.

*Drop

*Sigh. Ironic. What came from the serenity blessed by the heavens, is breathed out with despair. Just one droplet falling from the heavens, marked the time it takes for my life to return to solemnness. A shiver down my spine tells me something is drawing near.

*Drop

Something just clenched myself tightly from within. Ouch. It seems so familiar, yet so distant. Oh yes, its the piece of Me I tried to throw away. Now its back, claiming from me the price of ignorance. It is trying to remind me that I can't dismiss of Him, forever. Because He and I
are of the same flesh and blood.

*Drop

Nothing has changed. I'm back where I started, shrouded in what's seemingly a lifetime bond with this foul knave I brought upon myself. Now I know, He is something I have to carry for the rest of my life. Moving on, like people had done, is not possible; for I had only managed to walk 3 drops away...

The Closest Stranger

To me, Love is like a waltz,
holding you in my arms lovingly, steps along each others,
not letting go, till the end of it all.

Loving you is like music,
When I found one that I'm fond of, I will repeat it,
refusing to miss even a second of it,
and I let it repeats,
until another one take its place.

To Wait, is blissful,
and I even told you,
that I will Wait forever.

But Waiting is ever painful and tiring.

One of the greatest Pain in the world,
is to see my heart wither and shatter.

Yet, piece by piece, I mend them back,
unknown to anyone.

I Shall Wait No More.

For I have learned to Let Go.

With a slight hint of pain, you say
I Don't Love You.

But, You Do Not Know

Behind my Cruelty,
is my desire to give you happiness,
that is to set you Free.

My Tears,
fall on your footprints as you leave,
so that I can Hide them from your eyes.

Like shadows during sunset,
our Distance grows ever longer.

I thought that I can Forget,
only to realize I'm lost in Memories of you.

Occasionally, it Hurts.

Occasionally, I Cry.

Living in memories of you,
I can only learn how to Disguise,
cover everything in beautiful Lies.

My Heart can't let you go.

I tried,
Throwing you out of my heart.

But in the end,
I Returned in tears to pick you up again.

Everyday, in silence, I still Care about you,
hidden from all eyes.

We both know, that our paths will Never Cross Again.
Like parallel tracks, getting Further Away from each other.

We can never be friends, for we had Hurted each other.

Never be enemies, for we had Loved each other.

We can only be,
the Closest Strangers.

This stranger that Miss You so much,
can only Pray That You Will Smile.

~Cherish Time To Love~

*This is a translated piece.