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Chipped and sharp, my nails are no longer white. They are grey and apathetic to the skin surrounding them. This is not about the flame, but about the cold. This is not about the good, it is about the uncertain. This is not about the truth, it is about the mystery; anything could be true or false at this very moment. This is not about reality, it is about infinite possibility, the opposite of every impossibility you have ever entertained. 

My skin reacts to this, chills and rejection of the bland. Goosebumps because, just because. In this space of no flavor, nothing happens for the pleasure of your senses. In this state of being, comfort is extremely similar to boredom. In this kingdom of routine, the sun hides and winds blow, uncertain and unappreciated. My head rests, and my body slows, little motion brings forth less life. 

I bring music to my silence and he asks my imagination for a dance. His voice and his words ring and play on my nonchalance waking my curiousity and interest. I enjoy it. Softly, slowly, and quietly I anticipate the way his breath sounds in my ears. Violin, piano…and then percussion a simple perfection to my sleepy, bored and comfortable senses. Perfect. He asks about my feelings, he asks about my words, letters and emptiness in between. On repeat, two,three, four times I know his words now, I smile. One beat upon the next I find that I have been pacing around this space letter by letter. Step by step I trace the warmth of my letters, I press every word and I prepare my self. Silence will subside and I will transcend every wavelength, I will dance to the tune of a world of my making. 

For now, I dwell…

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Thousand and two thoughts.

I miss this; that freedom that lasts longer than I ever imagine with every word I decide to put in here. 

I miss the love and the crash of emotion on skin and on earth shaking beneath our feet. I reject the normal, I do not acquaint myself with it, I run away from it. 

I miss the fire and shake in my voice as I anticipate the next breath and the next moment. Somehow all these things seem distant when I spend my days centered behind a desk reading other people’s words. Somehow I cannot seem to get back to the path I thought I was on. Everything seems boring repetitive and elusive. 

It is that rock in my headphones and the vibe in my stroll that keeps ringing on somewhere beneath all my bland thoughts and mediocre days. 

Perhaps it is a phase, perhaps this is growing up and being responsible for something beside my need for fun, excitement and thrill. Perhaps I am missing an undercover tone in this world of desks, computers, files and humans with designated positions. 

I miss things that’s all. And I’m writing this right here and right now in order to admit it in hopes that I find the balance between what I must do and what I want to do; what I have and what I deserve. The balance between their world and mine must exist somewhere along these words and those thoughts. That’s when I run. 

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A Little Living

Strength has always been a quality i somewhat considered fleeting. People who appeared to be strong, suddenly collapsed and people who you would assume to be weak had an unbelievable consistency and resiliency towards life’s twists and turns.

It seems to me that through out my numerous rampages for insight across borders, humans and emotions, I misunderstood strength. I saw one side of it and failed to see through the other. Strength; it turns out, is not apparent and is not stamped on people’s foreheads. Strength cannot be determined by the amount of tears a person sheds upon experiencing an emotion, and it cannot be perceived simply by observation. Strength, to my amazement was a quality so deeply ingrained in the heart of hearts of any person who needed it. Strength is innate; it is weakness that we are taught. Weakness is the choice after all, and not strength.

How did i reach this conclusion you may ask? Give a little girl a notebook, some books, a lot of time, some exposure to new and dangerous territory, sprinkle her space with a few traps, and hand her a little light; give her a few shoves and let her make her own way. She will discover strength and she will meet weakness. Conclusions are much better concluded than reached.

I dare say, we have unbelievable resources of power available to our reach yet we are untrained, we lack the technological expertise and the human capital to tap into it. We are developing countries in a world of superpowers- we are left to our own devices trying to make sense of a world so unlike expectations. We are scared and we are unsure, we fail miserably and we shy away from our lessons. We learn to be weak so early on in our lives -unless advised otherwise- until strength becomes a quality to be admired.

I have heard before that courage is contagious, and strength is admirable because not many can attain both. I believe however so profoundly, that life is not scary and it is merely one challenge after the other. I believe that we must live anyway we see fit, because it is only this moment, and this hour and this day, and this year; only this lifetime you get to live.

So let go, its only now

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The day my friends turned into pigeons

Nothing is as psychotic as words on fire. Nothing is as absurd as a world thought to be eternal. Nothing breaks as pleasurably as a human being.
I never crawled, I never walked, I sometimes ran but all it ever really was me standing still. Always speaking about the chaos in my mind never made me stronger, only made me more descriptive and rather cynical. I took solace in that pleasure of a mad world that can never understand. I am wrong.
I do not want to be understood, I never did. I made myself feel special because pride wasn’t enough for me, I was never a believer of people’s words. They never changed anything.
And so I smash into walls built by my own bare hands, I bang my words upon the surface thinking I’m making a difference, believing I am leading a new era; a renaissance fueled by fumes. And I keep on writing I never stop. I write on walls, halls and future’s doors. I write on people and on paper. I write on my soul and I write on my skin. The only way I am able to breathe in reality and breathe out magic is this.
There is nothing as liberating as that flat line at the end of a full life. There is nothing as terrifying as that last heart beat; the grand finale.
So live my dear, anyway you wish, anyway you see fit. Just carry your own weight and listen to that music. You are always right.

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Life Lesson: Love Never Lost

I take in a deep breath and refrain from the sigh that usually follows. I glance at the companion of my choice tonight and my cup of coffee never looked as enticing or filling. It is already past midnight and my beautiful selfish mind rises to the occasion dressed in the deepest shades of thought.

My words haven’t been so diverse lately nor has my manner of speaking; and the reason is not a lack of events but a surplus of denial. A denial that a change once injected into a lifestyle needs time to take over. A denial that i haven’t been honest with these pages or with myself. A denial that no matter how much i repeat that i am OK, it will not suffice. A denial that giving up a piece of myself was as easy as typing Goodbye.

This is where i decide to come clean. My cup of liquid insomnia is filled up to the rim; enough to consume the night every sip at a time, and face a moon i have been hiding away from for a while now.

Truth is: I made a decision that i do not regret. I changed my life because i needed to, because i knew the path i was on was not mine. I probably baffle and confuse anybody who attempts to listen to me because one cannot explain abstract convictions to people who dwell on the practical. Maybe my trace of crazy finally came out and limped too frantically and frighteningly in front of people. Maybe losing what i lost means finding what i am bound to live for. All i know is that no matter how absurd our decisions could sound to our audiences, they remain at the end of the day our own, they become treasured possessions that nobody can ever take away.

I thought for too long, i lived inside my head believing that i can construct a world of my own free of damage, clear of trouble; and i was wrong. It turns out that the person living in my own world was not the same person living in everybody else’s. It turns out i was leading a double life of double thinking without even knowing it. It turns out i put out the biggest act without even auditioning. Everything i had written on those pages was truth for me except i could never say it so clearly in words. And so i hid, and i kept to myself, my inhibitions grew and my head became more crowded until i eventually broke.

The spill was too immense, too overwhelming, it was ground breaking and life changing. The decision to get out of my own constructed world left nothing unharmed and the person in question utterly confused.

I write tonight though my heart aches and my back breaks. I write tonight empty of love but full of courage to own up to my actions and speak about my decisions. I write tonight in need of redemption and in pursuit of peace. I write tonight trying to merge my construct of the world with the real one. I write in acknowledgement of a relationship so worthy of my truth and my honesty. I write to the stars that shine; though they are empty of life their light endlessly remains.

We are worthy of love. And even when love no longer lives inside a relationship it remains in the moments past and the words shared. We never lose love because it is never ours. We find love and it might evade us to be found somewhere else where it is more comfortable, where love is happy and not ill. We are worthy of love. It is whole it is eternal. Sometimes we taste bits of it sometimes we receive doses that last us a lifetime. It is everywhere all we need to do is just let it in.

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Indecisive, uncertain, insecure, doubtful, unreliable, inhibited girl. Passionate rarely, apathetic mostly, lacking always.  Empathetic, nice, numb, sad. Grateful, undisciplined quitter. Heavy, shy, thoughtful, realistic. Logical, submissive, obedient, void. Soulful, selective, salient, secretive writer. Strange, different, proud, honest. Alone in a world of surrogate fillers; illusions of completeness.

Tiptoeing  around self loathing while free-falling in love with myself everyday. A recipe for disillusionment from a world of hypocrisy and tainted truths. A child in the commoners’ eyes, and a troubled mismanaged old soul in reality. Drama queen at best, possible proof that i am mislead by my youth after all. I dream of becoming a dreamer, but dreaming is escaping reality. So i dwell in the mess of that truth, a form of wreckage that people run away from by chasing their dreams. Happiness is not in those dreams but in making peace with what reality offers.

Pursuing a purpose, a meaning and a reason, but i have no clue still. Contrary to usual tendencies, the last thing i want is to live forever; the idea is as troubling as it is infinite and whole. I want to know every step of the way that i am getting closer to an end that should answer all my questions.

An over analyzing hopeless romantic. An endless dreamer and a simple – minded wide hearted being. The only way i understand reality is through the magic of my soul. The only reason i identify sadness is because natural joy floods me. The print of every word i write is a breath so involuntary that it surprises me every time. This cruelty of a mind molded both by experience and the lack of it is always heavy; except redeeming truth flowing out of my fingertips lifts me up every time.

My words are salty and moist, they sting when the wound is open; yet they heal when my world runs dry. My words stray but they always come back to comfort me. They prove to me that a voice is only beautiful when it is soulful and true. I sail and i listen to people’s stories knowing that mine belongs to these words. The day i ran to my notebook instead of a person, i gave those words absolute power and i rendered myself a mere messenger.

Simplicity finds me as i end this text; i believe its time i let go and surface.