Somethings you cannot say


It’s not that I don’t believe you– I do.

I believe that you’re not well, that you genuinely can’t come, that you do wish you could… to an extent.

But it takes its toll, and it makes me feel that I’m lesser in your eyes. I’m not a priority.

 

It’s not that I don’t think you’re good people, friends I mean.

I think you’re swell, and I think you do enjoy my company as I do yours… but it’s not 50/50, is it?

It takes its toll, the things unsaid and unremembered. It makes me feel lesser, I’m not your priority, that you don’t really have concern for me.

 

It makes it hard for me to fully trust you the way I would like to. Trust you with my time, effort and affection. It makes me want to build a wall, to keep myself safe, treat you as a arms-length-friend at best.

 

And you? I just can’t.

still can’t. Perhaps I forever can’t.

I wish I could surrender, give up, quit you and just never see you again, in any context.

Rather than look at you now

and teether between HATING everything you are and LOVING everything you are
between not caring at all and caring too much.

I don’t want
to hear of the things you do
and not know whether to roll my eyes and ridicule them
or laugh and smile endearingly
or just to be completely ambivalent and unaffected.

When I don’t look directly at you
When I don’t make conversation
When I don’t ask about the things in your life
When I ignore, act flippant and even cold

Do you know? That it’s conscious, deliberate? That it’s not because I don’t know what to say, what to ask? That it’s not because I don’t care?

It’s just because I can’t. Just can’t, still can’t, forever can’t.

I had a thought the other day
that some scars are permanent.

A Million Points of Light


Walking up the stairs, a gaze across space. Glance up, a nod and a smile.
Sitting at a desk; hurries by, a wave and a ‘hi!’.

And there it stops.

It’s mind boggling, the possibilities. At every instant, you’re faced with a choice. It branches off ad infinitum, a never-ending number of parallel universes, containing every single possibility.

It’s like being in a library with a million books in front of you; A million books, a million view points, a million worlds. Astounding! The possibilities! At your finger tips! Each book you open brings you somewhere new, gives you something new, changes you in some way. The possibilities, they’re endless.

It’s like the internet; each site you visit opens up another ten links and each of those another ten and… it’s exponential!

You’re like a little frog, looking up at the vast, never-ending sky. There’s an entire world waiting to be conquered, to be explored, to be seen. The possibilities, endless.

And yet, there is stops.

You’re a frog… in a well. Or are you a frog that’s been conditioned to think there’s a well? No…I think the well’s real. Or have I merely been well conditioned?

You can’t read all of the books in the library. It’s all there, at your fingertips, but at the same time out of reach.

Every single person you walk past has their own story, a story that could fill ten novels, fill ten movies. Each and every single person you walk past has a name, a family, a history, a point of view, a personality. Their own lives, their own worlds, their own universe.

Imagine the possibilities?

They could have something in common with you. They probably do. What about that guy over there? Maybe you’d hit it off, really click. Maybe they share some of your strongest convictions. Maybe they could introduce you to a whole new world. Maybe they have the potential become your bosom buddy, if given half the chance. Maybe… one of them is The One?

Every. Single. Person. You pass by. Is as real as you are.

And yet, there it stops.

At least for me. I see the possibilities, but I don’t know how to make the connection. I don’t know how to move it past just that smile and a ‘hi’.

It’s like all of life; You could buy a plane ticket on a whim and be in Japan, or Scotland, or Italy tomorrow. Every moment opens endless possibilities. Yet… it doesn’t and yet you can’t.

All these characters, just secondary characters and calefare in the movie of my life- flat, 2D and boring. I know it’s not true! How do I give them main character statuses? More character development and… heck, give them their own spin-offs! I want to see all the possibilities. I want to see them!

It’s like a million points of lights. Each one you touch bursts into a million more points of light. Fireworks of possibilities. Never-ending ripples. Touch, touch, touch.

It must be nice to be god. The view must be mesmerizing  To be able to see all the possibilities unhidden. All the hyperlinks, all the braches and intricate patterns of interaction, all the points of light exploding and expanding outwards before you. Heck, you don’t need to be god; I can’t see it and already the mere idea mesmerizes me.

At your fingertips and beyond your reach.

Dear you, I will always love you.


Dear baby,
Dear you,

It’s your birthday soon. And also the one year mark of our breakup; my time is almost up. Although I guess I’ve come to realize that I’ve been playing this game by myself.

Dear you,

I want to wish you happy birthday. How have you been doing? I hope you’re doing well. …or perhaps I don’t mean that fully?

Dear you,

I heard you’re in UK on exchange. Jealous, much! And here I am, rotting away in this miserable place. All that time together, not even a chance to go to Malaysia and now you’re in the UK.

Dear you,

I no longer think of you everyday—well, I still think of you often, but the thoughts are much, much less loaded. More matter of fact. They come and go and I don’t pay particular notice to them.

Dear you.

Sometimes I still think negative thoughts—it’s really beyond my comprehension and it really hurts me to think that— you seem to have no inclinations whatsoever to reach out to me. That it’s fine with you if we never speak or meet again, or if I never forgive you. Like you have genuinely successfully earased me completely from your consciousness, and you’re fine with that. Don’t you at least want to be friends? You’re okay with leaving things in this state?

Dear you.

Sometimes, when I think those thoughts, I get angry. Why should I always be the one bothering? Why should I always be the one reaching out? If you don’t care enough even to give me proper replies or return me my stuff even though you promised to, why should I bother? I should just write you off the way you seem to have written me off.

Dear you.

I try to remind myself that… we shouldn’t fixate on the actions of others. We can’t control those. And you’ll never know the full story. Instead, concentrate more on our own actions—the ones we can control. So it doesn’t matter what you do, I should care about what I want to do. What do I want to do?

Dear you.

I thought I was ready, but when I found out that you’re in the UK—when I imagined you having the time of your life, without me–it was an unexpected blow. Maybe I’m not as ready as I thought I was…

Dear you.

Sometimes I wonder, if reaching out to you—wanting to be friends again—is the ‘Right’ thing to do. Even if this, “We must remain friends no matter what happens.”, was my first promise to you and me, said with the greatest conviction. If it’s so difficult for me, maybe I should just forget it. Who says that’s the ‘Right’ thing to do anyway? People move on, move away. It doesn’t matter. And isn’t it possible that my desire to meet up isn’t entirely innocent, doesn’t stem solely from ‘wanting to be friends’? Should I forget it?

Dear you,

I miss you. Do you miss me? Do you think of me?

Dear you,

It’s been nearly a year. Am I ready?

I guess it doesn’t matter so much if it’s the ‘Right’ thing to do (afterall, there’s no such thing) as much as… it’s what I think I should do. I can’t picture any other path that wouldn’t feel… wrong. Like I’m running away.

Dear you,

I’ll going to have to keep my promise to myself, regardless of what you do or don’t do.

Dear you,

I miss you. I hope you’re doing well.

Dear you,

I will always, always love you.

And I have been learning to be okay with that.