Saturday, January 24, 2015

Late Nights

You avoid pen and paper like you avoid bed, because that means to think, to be unable to shut it off. Shut it all off!

You’ve mastered the art of hiding behind the distractions during the commotion of the day, but when the night falls, the silent fills the room and you can hear the clock ticking, suddenly there’s no place in the world you can go and not listen to them. 

But the funny thing is, the same things you dread are the ones pulling you in, always, like a magnet. Because when you feel the darkness crawling in, the inertia taking over, those are the only things that can keep you grounded. Help you find your solid ground. No matter how messed up it is. 

Pen and paper and your bed, a love-hate relationship, the places where you can safely dream you wishes, worries and aches away… even if most times you’re wide awake.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

She was always a quiet kid, she thinks. She’s not sure. She might have been a vibrant kid once, there are some memories on the back of her mind, though it seems like a lifetime ago.
She didn’t get herself in trouble, she was never exactly tough, but she was certainly independent and passionate about her causes.
She got along with everyone, never got teased and was often surrounded by people, but somehow never quite fit in.
She had trouble sleeping. She was grateful for what she had, but eager for something else.
She was never satisfied, but she never demanded much, not from anybody other than herself. She didn’t think she felt worth it.
She was a caregiver and a worrier. She lived for others and was too hard on herself. And though the years had thought her how to cope with that, those were the things she didn’t think she could change.
She didn’t want to leave her comfort zone, but was persistently drawn to a bigger world.
She wasn’t crazy for people, or their relationships, but there was something intriguing about them that kept her engaged.
She valued friendship, truth and honesty above everything else, but she often felt hypocrite with how little she shared with the ones around her.
She felt herself constantly searching. For what, she wasn’t sure. Just something else, something deeper, something that could fill the void she always remembered to have inside, she supposed.
She wanted to explore the world and other lives. She felt so insignificant and small and yet too big to be trapped in just one place.
She was strong in ways she didn’t think people understood. She was strong in ways she didn’t think she would.
She felt better when she was alone, though there were a few moments she feared loneliness would take over.
She didn't like to hold grudges, but she had a memory that was too sharp for her own good.
She had many ideas, but few were the thoughts that were shared.
She had big dreams, but little hope. She was young, but had an old soul.
She wondered if she would ever be in a happy place, or if she would never be content.
She was too aware, had too many questions. She doubted that she would ever figure it out, but the years had brought her some tranquility.

Maybe she was not supposed to ever be satisfied. Maybe she was not supposed to ever feel fulfilled. Because maybe, just maybe, she was the kind of person that would always find another goal, another purpose, another reason to keep on searching. And that was okay with her.