If only, if only, if only what? Something is missing in this piece of room, a vital clue, a missing identity. Then I hesitate to remember that the society is just all about fame, money, glossy faces and expeditious lies to cover up even deeper lies. And I truly, deeply hate it so much eventhough I know I can't escape it because I'm a part of it.
It's like chasing time all over again. The same cycle repeats, a year passes on - October again - and last year I liked playing midnight Sudoku games because it was a creation of new fascination. It was an attachment and a catchall to disaster but there was the exhilaration and thrill, the romance and the idyllic sense of... belonging. Because then, I would've thought I had joy and understanding. At least that was a fallback, secured and fastened. I wrote about chaos and red lights, signals and morse codes, dancing in emotions. But today, my mind is bereft of all this wonder, its lost its ability to keep up to its pace, I'm slowing losing words, one by one.
The more I remember, the more I forget quickly. There was also a whiff of curiosity, but now I can't recall anything clearly. Memory doesn't operate like a time machine, it doesn't replay everything exactly as it was because we judge, we scrutinize, change events till everything is just unclogged, desperate events. As a miserable excuse, I call the past Things I Don't Remember, euphemism for being a coward, fearful and frightened.
There are perhaps so many incidents of relapse, which I simply fling away out of amusement and irritation. What to do, I ask in moment of panic, but there is simply nothing nothing nothing people never change, people never do but you refuse to believe me so what can I do? Sigh. All you can do is pretend to nod in agreement or just walk away from me. And it's knowing what I really want that puzzles me in astonishment or confusion.
So a labyrinth of memory has its corners and nooks, waiting to be rediscovered; to be found and to love it once again, relinquish what you never seem to have, to stay or move on, to feel happy from made up stories and glazed afternoons.
It's like chasing time all over again. The same cycle repeats, a year passes on - October again - and last year I liked playing midnight Sudoku games because it was a creation of new fascination. It was an attachment and a catchall to disaster but there was the exhilaration and thrill, the romance and the idyllic sense of... belonging. Because then, I would've thought I had joy and understanding. At least that was a fallback, secured and fastened. I wrote about chaos and red lights, signals and morse codes, dancing in emotions. But today, my mind is bereft of all this wonder, its lost its ability to keep up to its pace, I'm slowing losing words, one by one.
The more I remember, the more I forget quickly. There was also a whiff of curiosity, but now I can't recall anything clearly. Memory doesn't operate like a time machine, it doesn't replay everything exactly as it was because we judge, we scrutinize, change events till everything is just unclogged, desperate events. As a miserable excuse, I call the past Things I Don't Remember, euphemism for being a coward, fearful and frightened.
There are perhaps so many incidents of relapse, which I simply fling away out of amusement and irritation. What to do, I ask in moment of panic, but there is simply nothing nothing nothing people never change, people never do but you refuse to believe me so what can I do? Sigh. All you can do is pretend to nod in agreement or just walk away from me. And it's knowing what I really want that puzzles me in astonishment or confusion.
So a labyrinth of memory has its corners and nooks, waiting to be rediscovered; to be found and to love it once again, relinquish what you never seem to have, to stay or move on, to feel happy from made up stories and glazed afternoons.
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