26 April 2010

I'd love for you to take me to a deeper conversation; Only you can make me.

it was way past midnight, but i had been wide awake for the most part.

i tore myself away from my bed and grabbed the book from the shelves. i felt for a pen on the table before making my way to the living room and turning on the lights to start penning. i sat there unmoving, trying to capture the emotions that seem to be passing me by like rockets but coming back to haunt me again in a flash, abandoning me as soon as it came. the vicious cycle kept going and going, leaving me hanging and wondering and giving me no respite.

and so i flipped the book open and started writing. i wrote and i wrote without holding back, writing the rawest feelings i could feel, leaving no space for mercy and wasting no time on regrets. i haven't been able to write like this in ages, and once i started i couldn't stop.

minutes passed, then hours. indulged in my own world of words and sentences, i was only brought back to reality once the first light from the break of dawn hit me. i felt the gush of the cold morning wind blowing through my bedroom window, sending chills down my spine, kissing every inch of my skin to icy numbness - a familiar feeling that greets me every time when i'm most unaware of it.

my fingers throbbed as i placed the pen down. i stood up and felt every inch of my body pulsating, feeling the ache radiating through my whole being and an unfamiliar sting shooting out from all of my fingers. my writings took up 6 pages in the book, but i didn't care. it felt good to write again, to get all those buried feelings out in the open, gradually breaking myself free from the shell that i have managed to conceal myself in. i wanted to love so much, because it feels as if sometimes it's the only thing i could do for the world; to love without holding back, to honour someone with all that i can give. i wake up in the mornings feeling that aching pleasure in my heart, but sometimes i reach out yet there's no one there. i focus my love on people who want it or need it, but sometimes it doesn't seem enough. i do not hope for anything in return, as there is no harm to give all that i can. i can only offer just as much, but i guess it will suffice for the most part. there are certain things that do not need explaining, and some things are better left unsaid - things will only unfold in due time.

but for the time being only writing can release me, freeing me from a world that once was and bringing me back to the reality that is supposed to be.

4 spilled milk:

Caryn Khoo said...

me like this post. :)

Valia Lind said...

I like your writing! Very nice :) Im a first time author trying to promote my book! If you get a chance, please take a look at my blog: wordsareinnermusic.blogspot.com!
Thanks so much!

Oliver said...

Brave. I see it didn't go anywhere.

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