Drench me with plethora of emotions.

Again, I am caught in this kind of dead moment wherein listening to some sort of emotional pop song would suffice the need for pain. There is a little heart pinching, but not enough to cause a teardrop. The feeling that there’s only a flimsy emotion to put away is terrifying. I fear not of being weak, because I yearn for the push of self-pity potency afterwards. I fear not of sadness, since it gives more meaning to ecstasy and all the conceivable hedonism. I fear not of bead of moisture, I even induce it to a weeping waterfall. I fear that I might abuse this impassiveness, that I might lose all the colours of life even the darkest shades, which in time might just left me with an empty sight. I fear of being detached with my emotions. I fear of the coldness in my brainwaves. I fear of being meaningless. So now help me, strike me with melancholy, and hit me with agony. Drench me with plethora of emotions.

someday you'll know...

Faraway I used to whimper over heartaches. Simple misunderstandings had caused me restless nights and long written apologies. And the “i-miss-you” made me to take trips in the middle of the night. Goodbye was unknown before, but now it’s the only way to live life

It’s just memories…

That I placed at hindmost part of my storage room. I consider that life event as a distant past. There were times that it came out aversely, but an obsessive-compulsive soul was always there to meticulously sweep the floor and box that dirt at the furthest back of the room. There’s a pre-set full denial that always run-in whenever an element of inappropriateness trickles. It’s like a Freudian dream censor. 

To eat a humble pie is not enough for your two years of your waiting. I know it’s perplexing for you on how the wind changes it course so hasty. There were also questions in my mind, but I let fly along the gush of blustery weather. I said my last words with encouragement for a sunny day for both of us. No more what-ifs, no more once more. It’s over.

When two people fall in love it doesn’t mean they are meant for each other.

same old battle

Now I am seated to the sofa wherein my firsts blog posts way back in 2008 were written. Everything seems to be the same - the comfort of the six foot length sofa still makes me feel slumberous. The cushioning didn’t change, only the cover that makes it to look more elegant. The scent of the place is sweeter combined with the soft calming aroma of camomile, it is maybe due to my new niece whose days are transpired in this little world of comfort. And this place makes me to write despite of the tug of my body to sleepiness.  Nothing has changed, even my feelings. I’m still fighting for my same old battle.