Fools.

Only fools forget who they are, what they stand for. They lose the ground on which they stand, the ideas that they believe in. Fools believe in fairytales and spells that make the world better. Fools let their misery drown their own voices, yet will do nothing to change it. They find themselves screaming, constantly, on top of their lungs but no one seems to hear a single note. Even when they know how foolish they are, they choose the path of least resistance: to continue being deceived. Fools pretend to be oblivious, believing denial isn't running away from the problem but walking right through it as if it were a ghost that won't hurt them if its presence isn't acknowledged.

The Departure

She looked up. The bright, cheery sunlight took her by surprise. "This isn't so bad afterall," she whispered quietly to herself as she carefully laid down a small flower by the dock. This is where she had met her friend for the first time, back when they were both children. "Stupid children," she thought. After all these years, she has come to realize the truth of what happened. Ironically, when she finally found out, the truth did not matter anymore. She was never coming back to this dock again. This was the last time. Silently, she walked back to her car and drove off into the horizon.

Fond Memories.

At first, it's ok to brush it off, pretend that it had never happened. The wound is fresh and all you want to do is to forget. Everything about the scar is despised: its colour, its story and its becoming. Self-hatred for letting it happen and hatred towards the one who did this to you. You want to move on and start over.

Then one day, after all's forgotten, you wake up and wonder what happened? The anger has died down. The scar taught a lesson. What about him? Does he remember? Has he forgotten too? Does his scar pain him as much? Memories begin to flood your mind. Somehow, they are the good ones: the first glance, the first arguement, the first smile, the first touch. What happened is in the past; it should be cherished. Thinking about the good times in the past has made you treasure what you have now even more. You have forgiven the scar.

"Bittersweet memories, that is all I'm taking with me. "

After the Leap.

"Something has changed within me

Something is not the same

I'm through with playing 

by the rules of someone else's game

Too late for second guessing

Too late to go back to sleep

It's time to trust my instincts

Close my eyes and leap..

It's time to try defying gravity."

How can one person go against gravity, a force of nature? Is it ever worth the effort? When is it too high of a cost? When is it time to stop? The leap - the one extra step, pushing oneself towards a new and foreign territory - often brings new discoveries and boundaries. I've moved on but I'm still the same. I'm still the same but I've lost a part of who I am. I question my recklessness. I question my selfishness. I question who I am. I am lost when I'm without you...as you are lost when you are without reason.

Trauma.

The light is blinding. The world is standing still. The light is the main focus. Everything else, however, is blurry, undefined, completely out of focus. Where is this light from? What causes it? What is the source?

It is impossible to reason. It is impossible to understand. Is the ground beneath moving? The earth is shifting yet everything else remains calm, saturated and nauseatingly unidentifiable. It is easy to lose the sense of direction...the feeling of belonging. Footsteps approaches from behind. They grow with urgency. Five figures, all blue, advances.

The Burial Part 1

He dug his hands into the bare, white sand and tightened his grip. The sand was hot, but not scorching. It was painful but he could take physical pain. There is a threshold for everything and that line has not been crossed yet. He pulled his hands out, damaged and broken. He felt a sharp, searing pain shoot up his arms and straight into his brain. He struggled to stand up and took several steps towards his goal. Moments later, his entire body was in shock. His muscles were seizing and his body became paralysed. With a loud thump, his rigid frame fell sideways onto the sand. His grip still tight, blood came trickling through his fingers, forming little red puddles in the sand.

The Leap.

"How long?" someone once asked me. I thought: "When it's time, I'll know I've had enough." Time is relative; it always will be. Some years later, I heard the voice again. My lips didn't tremble. My hands did not shake. My heart did not beat faster. My mind paused for a minute. Time to let go it told me. I did. I leaped. My heart followed. I'm still falling and the landing is mysterious and distant. All I know is that I should have jumped a long time ago.