s.a. ; conquer

[ as you read this, open your mind’s eye, and let your imagination show you what i saw, what i felt. however, i must give you a trigger warning: suicidal thoughts. i promise it ends up alright. i’ll explain myself in the end if you’d like to read that too. ]

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the clock ticks incessantly, reading a time too far gone into the night but far too early for morning. it entrances me; my empty gaze focuses on nothing. somehow, my eyes drift over to the balcony door. there’s a tug in my chest that pulls me closer until i’m standing before it. i pause to stare at my reflection on the glass, but i can’t make out a face. my hand unconsciously grips the handle.

i open it.

one step onto the open balcony and my hair is already brushed away by the wind. it seeks my exposed skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. i’m forced to clench my teeth in order to fight back a shiver. the patter of raindrops offers to wash yesterday away; the sound is comforting — the smell, fresh and clean. drops come in pinpricks. the wind is neither gentle nor harsh, but it seems to curve into me. at its coaxing, i follow its lead.

another step forward.

the city flickers impatiently, as though waiting for the familiar heat to graze it once more. the twilight is subtle. the silence had no hold here; its place had been taken by the white noise only a city could provide, with the rain in tune like a duet. a dull half-moon keeps watch over those who were resting and those who were restless. the streetlights remain on, of course. but i’m not just looking out.

i’m staring down.

i see the distance of twenty-three floors lengthen. my left foot takes yet another step forward, and my right follows. fingers clamp onto the rusted railing, and it bites back with ice.

then i’m frozen.

the wind is whispering, yet it screams in my mind. it throttles me with poorly sugarcoated thoughts.

‘imagine if you jumped. the feeling of flying. the feeling of falling. swimming in the rain. i’ll rush past your ear like encouragements to continue your downward spiral. the earth crashing into your very soul. how much fun it’ll be. how exhilarating it would feel.’

it croons and caresses and cajoles, but i find myself rooted in the tiles. i start imagining where i would land. that makes me teeter — was the wind pushing me? was i allowing it? — but the off-balance was enough.

my recoil from the railing sends me backward. with a newfound desperation, i shove open the door and dash inside. my thoughts were collected enough to have the sense to close it gently. when had my hands started to shake? my gaze lands on my reflection once more. the dim nightlight offers enough illumination this time.

i see my eyes. i see the dark circles underneath them. i see how dazed i had become. but they were not broken. and that thought was enough to let me breathe again.

the next night, the balcony beckons me once more.

but i was done complying.

Continue reading “s.a. ; conquer”

from a to z

though your heart may be choked
and your lungs may be strangled,

still your blood sings His song
and your breath lives for Him.

( purpose. )

your beauty runs deeper
than just a pretty face —
there is something divine
in a soul bared with humility.

( 1 peter 3:4 )

when you had nothing,
you still gave;
when you had everything,
you still received.

( blessings )

but your smile was not just
a curve of the lips;
it was warm, like the sun on a rainy day.
it was comforting, like a stuffed animal you could never give up.
it was yours.

( and that was more than enough. )

age.

i’m growing up.
i feel it when the scars of days past sink into my skin.
i see it when i look in the mirror, and my eyes are not as innocent.
i hear it in my voice, and i don’t recognize my words.
( or is it the other way around? )

it’s not all bad.
my relatives tell me i’ve gotten taller.
my family tells me i’ve gotten stronger.
my friends don’t tell me anything.
( is that a good thing? )

it’s inevitable.
then why am i fighting it?
why am i so desperate to turn back the clock?
why am i so terrified of numbers greater than nineteen?
( i don’t know that i know why. )

do i want my independence day?
i’m scared of being alone.

Continue reading “age.”

typewritten.

img002 (2)i’m so scared of
the earthquakes that come
from my own
heartbeat;
because just when i think
that everything’s okay,
you show up again.
an it’s enough to make my
world fall apart.

s.a.  ;  natural disaster

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when you first took your needle
and stitched up my wounds,
i welcomed your
careful sutures.
but now there are seams on my lips
and threads through my eyelids.

i used to wonder why
you left my ears to hear;
but when i hear honey dripping,
i wish you didn’t

s.a.  ;  tied to you

captions pt. 2

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brown is the color of
the warmth of an embrace,
the crackling of a fire,
the comfort of home.

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when dawn ignites the sun on the horizon,
the shadows can no longer hide us.
so let me savor this moment
spent in silence with you.

( 4:27 AM )

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a city that never sleeps —
methodical. systematic.
a forest of silent dreams —
tranquil. safe.

i was sitting alone,
my only company the
sound of cars running across the pavement
and footsteps fading down the hall.
yet it was
silent.

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she had the universe at the tip of her fingers;
she held the stars in the palm of her hand.
who are you to offer the world?

( already )

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my memories either have
faces without names
or names without faces.
but what i do not lack
is the spectrum of emotion
that one can never forget.

( faded, but never forgotten )

the other side of a broken heart

so often are words written in favor of
the broken,
the abandoned,
the forgotten.

but those who did the breaking,
did the abandoning, did the forgetting,
what happens to them?
what did they feel?
what did they seek?

were they truly brutal and cold,
or did they fumble with pulling the trigger?
were they a consuming fire,
or a rain that turned into a flood?

what if they didn’t want to hurt you,
but they couldn’t see any other way
to get out of the cage?

no, i am not justifying the actions of all.

i am only reasoning for the actions
of my own heart.

s.a.  ;  heartbreaker

Continue reading “the other side of a broken heart”

filter

[ not sure where i’m supposed to categorize this. should i put a category called ‘rants’ or ‘blurbs?’ maybe ‘ramblings?’ it might be useful. ]

filters are interesting little things. they make sure that whatever comes out of it is changed, in one way or another. let’s start simple.

one. coffee filters are used in order to make sure that the coffee grounds don’t pass through. only the liquid coffee is allowed to fall into a lovely cup of coffee.

two. the filters for pictures are not only amazing but also quite useful. on one hand, it enhances your photo, making it look better and more appealing to the eye. it becomes a way of expression, a form of art even, if you want to get to that point. on another, it becomes a sweet lie. it becomes a way of hiding the reality of things — no sky was ever that pink, no eye was ever so vibrant. a way to make the unappealing appealing. whatever side you choose, no one ever forced you to use or not to use filters. i think it just became programmed into our aesthetics, or whatever you call that small part of you that thinks that everything has to look nice.

three. i think the most useful filter of all is the one we use daily: our minds. before we speak — and unfortunately some people lack this — we must first think carefully of our words. i do believe this is self-explanatory.

[ p.s. i’ve decided to make them all categories. i wonder how they’ll be filled eventually… also i still have no idea why i wrote this so don’t expect it to make sense all the time. ]

from today

[ there was a nice amount of inspiration today. ]

i’ve spent too long seeking
others’ approval
before i had the sense
to find my own.

s.a. ; don’t make the same mistake

i see those empty spaces,
and it only makes it harder for me
to wish away the need the longing
to be there beside you.

s.a. ; open seats

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there’s no better sunset
than one
spent with you.

s.a. ; home missing home

cease.

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it was abandoned.

no longer being able to serve its purpose, it was tossed aside for being broken — being useless. what had once elicited the joyful shrieks of young children now stays silent. it stays untouched. it stays, along with the moments of time past. it stays, but time is a thief — the ride, an oblivious accomplice. they have stolen memories that would never be made.

imagine how my heart had skipped a beat — in one of the worst ways possible — upon seeing such brokenness. imagine how my mind had raced to recall every memory attached to the merry-go-round in a feeble attempt to somehow give it life again.

when my hands had given a cart the smallest push, it had groaned in protest. it was the kind of sound that made you think of a dying cough or a house creaking just before it would collapse.

so i stepped away. and i let it cease.