Multitudes of Hue

12.2.2016 – 11:57

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You are a blasting Universe that of which the Nyctophobic can’t see.

Fatal Malady

..it has always been what life meant; To be defeated once and for all and to start all over again.– Either you’d fly into stardust or burn into ashes.

Nov. 11, 2016 • 4:29pm

We thought that we were free of plagues when we see our skins clear. When we are really, deeply blighted and corrupted inside. We are so afflicted from within… We aren’t simply wounded; we are profoundly critical. We are so very ill, so sick and so frail that even just one clasp of a hand or one look in the eye might submerge our consciousness into the depth of indifference. Either that, or it’ll make our soul shatter into fragments that we won’t be able to collect. But we can never be what we once were; not even close. And we continue leaving our old selves behind not because of a choice but because of a demand. Such a demanding necessity of a situation that what has been of our lives. I figured, it has always been what Life meant; To be defeated once and for all and to start all over again. Either you’d fly into stardust or burn into ashes. But we can never cease this malady; nor flee this affliction… At the end of the day, we would always choose to just curl ourselves up into a ball while our insides were crumbling into shambles. Stoically enduring everything while a single tear says it all. But it is when someone finally looks into your eyes; through those cracked and fragmented, critical part of yours… that you will find out whether or not you would break down into pieces or you would feel whole, once again. The moment where, you do not know whether you’ll shatter and fall apart all over again.. Disintegrate and collapse into dust… And scatter. Or, you’d finally feel complete.. and found, at last.– No longer lost.

But perhaps it was both fundamentally, a virtual and humane idea to be in one’s mind in the first place.

Life in Irony

Life is strange. You remember what you badly want to forget and forget what’s meant to be remembered…

Oct. 15, 2018

Life is strange. You remember what you badly want to forget and forget what’s meant to be remembered. You always keep what you mean, and say what you don’t instead. We fill our lives with all the nonsense… all the meaningless things. Even if we meant well, we cannot do it.– nor say it. I wonder what hinders us,– what’s keeping us from doing what we really want to do, and what we really want to say.

But such is Life, and such is Irony.

Into The Wind

“Everything that’s broke — leave it to the breeze. Let the ashes fall… Forget about me.”

Feb. 28, 2017 • 12:05am

And then everything is constantly changing… Suddenly, everything is slowly drifting away; gradually. We cannot brace them, tie them, or keep them as ours. We can always cry and complain, but none of these will ever make them return back to the way they used to be. Because this time, whether or not it’s what we really choose… we only have one choice:

To let them go, and let them be.

The Sound of a Beating Heart

I would always remember it all– the random barks of the dog from the neighborhood; even the silent, whirling sound of the wind, the plane, the crickets… And well, I hate to say this– but yes. The sound of my beating heart.

Oct. 19, 2016 • 1:22am

And in times of me, being alone; as I lay here on my bed, in the middle of the night. And while the sun is still deciding whether or not it’s going to come out soon, because technically it’s already dawn but then again, it’s not morning yet… But here I am and I would always remember…– Remember everything. Remember it all too well. Every little thing that had complemented my disoriented soul and utmost loneliness. I would remember the crickets chirping from the outside; The sound of the plane while penetrating through the clouds… and the stars splattered in the sky. And then the air; –my only companion. I’d remember what was there. I would always remember it all– the random barks of the dog from the neighborhood; even the silent, whirling sound of the wind, the plane, the crickets… And well, I hate to say this– but yes.

–My breathing.

Metamorphic Spirit

…But it’s either you break free from the mold; or live the rest of your life inside that jar.

Oct. 19, 2016 • 1:55am

Change is such a painful process of peeling away your mask and revealing your skin with some parts of it getting torn away; lingered onto what has left it and leaving you broken. It is both heartbreakingly overwhelming… and extremely terrifying. But it’s either you break free from the mold or live the rest of your life inside that jar.

Inconstantly

The world will never again become the way it used to be. —To the way it has always been.

Feb. 27, 2017 • 9:18pm

And then when change finally wraps its arms towards everything that’s there; in everything around you… The world will never again become the way it used to be. — To the way it has always been. Your life will never be the same life that you had; the one that you owned. And you will start asking yourself if it’s still your life, or whether you are still the person that you are. It will take time to realize everything all at once, when all those dire questions inevitably pours down on you. It will take time. And you’ll realize. And you will learn. But first, it will throw you into the darkest chasm where there is nothing but emptiness. And only then, you will understand that no one can escape the void of indifference. Not until you succumb; not until you surrender. And not until you let yourself have the chance to live again. Because nothing then would’ve even mattered.

— Not anymore.