devastatingly human

on nights like these i feel like i could go on writing forever. But it is also on nights like these where writing gets harder. So much to say, so much to convey, but again, inadequate. Inadequate are my words, insufficient is the effort. It is on nights like these where my heart tremors through the smoke surrounding, yearns to be understood, while the hand, trembling with the pressure to convey so intimate and important a message, begs to reach out and feel your hand clutching mine in sentiments exact.

But i cannot, i cannot. I've exhausted all i have; and all i have i've said. Perhaps dreams are the alternative expression. But dark have been my dreams of late. I've dreamt gore, horror, repression, tensions and have woken up to stranger emotions and disturbed psyches. I scare myself, berating myself of the hidden unconsciousness that i know not of, which reign so strongly in my dreams. I could have knelt down and prayed at that very moment in the dream when it turned sinister, but i did not. Indeed, such a thought never entered my conscious self in an unconscious dream. Does this mean i don't pray enough; it must mean something when the thought of my Saviour doesn't enter my head automatically when it should.

Sigh. What is wrong with me. What IS it with all these questions and relentless evaluations.

Last night i dreamt i reconciled with an ex school mate of mine. It happened last year, the issue i mean. Why did i dream of such a thing; i was even so conciliatory in the dream. Can it be, that all these months i've been dying to reconcile with her? Or more likely i was just aching for a chance to finally put an end to this malignment of mine, an opportunity for a show-hand. Yes, i think perhaps, the latter holds water. Why should i care for a patching up, she was never a supporting role in my life, she was there for the ride, just like i was when things rode well. Why should i care what she thinks of me, we were never close, or maybe that perhaps is just one of the many lies i've told myself along the way. Perhaps i do care afterall, i do care what people, i don't care for, think about me.

Let's play at lies shall we? fan and swirl the smoke around us with our hands, tread upon the edge of a knife, each lie a shard, each deceit and pretense a hurtful song. Shards and Song, Use and Abuse.

I hate friends when they're not.

Joyce Lim unzipped at 3:40 AM with 1 comments
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Comments:

"she was there for the ride"
that made me think.
ya lor i think most things are wrought by convenience and coincidence. relationships. but ya some things endure. and that's what's rare and precious.

# posted by

hong : 6/18/2006 4:13 PM