Soaking it all up...

Feels like I'm none the wiser...

But does it make any sense at all to know that it ends badly for all of us, even the happiest of us, the most well intentioned of beings, the most pure of heart and soul. How is it fair that we all the same lose everything that matters in the end-and yet to know as well, despite all this, as cruelly as the game is stacked, that it's possible to play it with a kind of joy? To try to make some meaning out of all this seems unbelievably quaint. Maybe I only see a pattern because I've been staring too long. But then again, maybe I see a pattern because it's there.

That's just the way you make me feel...

Don't make me spell it out for you,

all of the feelings that I've got for you,

can't be explained, but I can try for you.

You keep on asking me the same questions,

and second guessing all my intentions.

Should know by the way I use my compression,

that you've got the answers to my confessions.

Everybody wants something...

I think this is a sign from the universe that I'm going to make it out alive. Never before have I felt so calm, so sure that I can piggyback this into the existence I've always dreamt of. There is no more doubt or fear or second guessing. It's happening and I will be ready to embrace every second of it. I don't even care that I am jinxing it. Fate has now gone beyond that. Assurances have been made. The pact has been sealed. Now all I have to do is wait it through. And be ready when it comes.

He woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in his life, the strangest moment of all, when he didn't know who he was. Far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of old wood, and footsteps somewhere far in the distance, and all the sad sounds, and he looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who he was for about fifteen strange seconds. He wasn't scared though; he was just somebody else, some stranger, and his whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost.

Under the influence...

When the night was full of terrors...

Allow me to describe my own sorrows and desires, the thoughts that pass through my mind. Let me describe them with heartfelt, silent, humble sincerity and use the images from my dreams. I will not try to blame life when it seems poor; rather to blame myself. To admit that I have not done enough to be granted its riches. And even if I find myself in some prison, whose walls let in none of the world’s sounds I will still have my memories and I'll turn my attentions to them. I will try to raise up the sunken feelings of my enormous past; and so my solitude will expand and become a place where I can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes by, far in the distance.

Just strangers with memories...

The art of survival...

Afraid that you can't climb higher,

scared that your gonna fall,

every time the road gets harder.

How can I fly with eagles?

scared I'm gonna hit the wall,

today I woke up a fighter.

I've cried high tides...

I think I care too much about people forgetting me. Somehow I need to shift my legacy, so it's, ironically, less about me. Maybe it can be about everything I could do for another. Maybe I just need to try even harder to be someone people gravitate towards. Maybe I need to dream a little broader. With a heart that stretches farther and that won't fit anymore if I ever go back to the same place. I have to become a person of ideas and seek out my own kind. I think it finally makes sense: long ago, so far back I can barely remember, I discovered that staying the same is scary and ever since, changing has become my new home.

A road best left behind...

He wished he liked people more, but somehow he could never get on with them. He never knew what to say. If life was a party, he wasn't even in the kitchen. Sometimes he envied the people who made it seem like they were actually enjoying themselves. Could they possibly even be honest? And if so, could he somehow learn to do the same? There might be a spark of hope left for him, although he knew the limits of his imagination.

I have too many hopes in what's to come, I know. I hope to be led safely to the shore. I hope life will be nice to me, just nice and nothing more. I hope to vanquish this tornado of self doubt and insecurity. I don't ask for the sun to be always shining. I don't ask for the day to be much longer. I don't ask for the guiding stars to be brighter. I don't ask for more flowers or more powers. I don't ask for the sky to be clear from clouds, or for a lack of rain and frustration. All I ask for is some peace of mind. So indeed, I have too many hopes, it would seem. My wishes are infinite, so I wonder, what will the universe do? Don't disappoint me, I suppose, for it already knows.

I hope I learn to get over myself...

It was that time of the year when I kept slipping in and out of consciousness, just like that, several times during the day, as time stretched and flowed around me. At one point my fantasies and reality blurred to such an extent, that it was hard to figure out which was which. I liked my dreams better, though. In them I was fully forgiven, all my sins were washed away and I was able to embrace the love I was given. In them my deliverance is at hand, allowing me to ascend towards the heavens, as light as a feather. A man no longer trying to be somebody else. Someone who loves for free, with someone who just wants me.

The past is gone...

Find balance in the sacrifice...

We're in love with the world,

but the world just wants to bring us down.

By putting ideas in our heads,

that corrupt our hearts somehow.

When I was a child,

every single thing could blow my mind.

Soaking it all up for fun,

but now I only soak up wine.

Hope to find something I can cling on to...

Never getting younger...

I marvelled at the beauty of life and savoured the power and possibilities of my imagination. In these rare moments, I prayed, I danced, and I analysed. I saw that life was good and bad, beautiful and ugly. I understood that I had to dwell on the good and beautiful in order to keep my imagination, sensitivity, and gratitude intact. But in doing so I became the stars and the moon. I became the lover and the beloved. I become the victor and the vanquished. I become the writer and the words. I become the knower and the known. I knew it would not be easy to maintain this perspective. I knew I would often twist and turn, bend and crack a little, but I also knew that ... I would never completely break.

Let the music play until the end...

He turned away from the universe as not to fall for its plea, for it used to seduce and consume him, and there was this one night a few years back and he was not yet accustomed to farewells and just like now he stood waving long after the ship was gone. But he was younger then and easily fooled and the sky was deep and dark and blue and he took his clothes off to let the breeze freeze his bones. He waded until he could no longer walk and it was too cold to swim but still he kept on walking at the bottom of the sea for he could not tell the difference between the sky and the lack of someone he loved and he had not yet learned how the task of moving on is as necessary as survival.

I think if there's anytime for a fresh start, it's now. There is a longstanding rumor that spring is the time of renewal, but that's only if you ignore the depressing clutter and din of the season. All that flowering and budding and birthing, the messy youthfulness actually verges on squalor. Spring is too busy, too full of itself to be the best time for reflection, re-grouping, and starting anew. For that you need December. You need to have lived through the mindless imperatives of your life before you can see that a landscape of new fallen snow is the real you. December has the clarity, the simplicity, and the silence I need for the most profound awakening yet.