http://www.roamingrequired.com/chernobyl-exclusion-zone-pripyat/
http://www.arambalakjian.com/2018/05/chernobyls-apocalyptic-playground/

But please don't let me go

midnight comes to steal my breath

& i am left with nightmares again.

nine years old & the bleakness of my dreams,

rain,

& the sound of your footsteps as you turn away.

i am host to a most terrifying disease;

Fear, you breed & take your tine.

in its grasp, i writhe & struggle

it makes myself the ultimate enemy.

every minute a trial, each time a choice:

to stay or to go

& which one to less destruction?

so your hands will turn purple,

grow scratched and bruised

what once was our embrace

i'd think an awaiting disaster.

a nuclear tragedy between two bodies

a cut here and bruise there 

cannot compare to radioactivity.

my skin is toxic,

my words– a miasma of broken memories.

your blood of my hand

i wipe from my eyes,

but soon you will cease bleeding

while i hope to grow numb.

i am sorry but to go is best.

i am sorry but to go is best.

i am sorry but to go

i am sorry but to go

i am sorry but

i am sorry

i am sorry but please

.

love, cll

free thinker

I thirst for more.
I want to scour each and every page, inhale the dust and fibres of time and discovery of each sheet as I feel its smooth roughness under my fingertips. I can almost hear the journey itself; the shushing of sanctity and the crunch of the turning page. I am on a pilgrimage–– I search for truths and faith, devote myself to eternal wonder.

Get Me Wrong

Sometimes, I take on too much and leave myself breathless and exhausted. But sometimes I also leave too much for someone else to take on. This, I've been grappling with for a while. I've been pondering on my obsession with image, my need to be recognised, my attraction towards popularity and fame. Of course, I am too aware of how in many instances I reject being seen and talked about, but it has been increasingly apparent to me how this stands like a massive monolith between me and progress... my betterment as a person. For fulfilment comes in the form of praise, and the things I do not get credit for I often slip and neglect. And many times I have found these things to be most important, and most enriching to my being. It gets tiring too, having to keep hoping that someone is watching with a camera in hand or anything at all to spread the word of whatever fantastic job I am doing. 

I wonder if it stems from childhood. I remember a dear teacher telling me the way to get me happy and assured is if one would just say a word of praise and recognition. In class I would think my answer through before I would voice it out, such that in my mind it was near impossible for me to get it wrong and not impress. Times when I do get something wrong I would brood over it, let it eat away at me, and I would never be able to pinpoint what about it was getting me so uncomfortable and embarrassed. 

It will take me a long time to get over it I think. But I'll start now and here, and any improvement will make me so happy. The little things matter, even if they are not seen. And regardless my heart will sing.

most times when i am like this i feel like i could give everyone the world,
every part of me they asked for or needed,
every part they didn't ask for and didn't need,
i would give you everything
not because i love you
but because sometimes, these times, i just give.
but i wonder why i seem to expect something in return,
your lacklustre response seeps through my skin
and i wished i had never expressed my existence,
in my giving.
i wish i had hidden from view
behind that sliver of a moon
and i wish i did not say that i thought of you.
because this is too much and perhaps you do not know what to do with me.
i cannot blame you because these times
most times i don't either.

I fantasise and tip-toe around big dreams, hoping that one day they could get close enough for me to step towards, grasp and embrace forever.

starbucks music rings in the background

Dear you,

I forgot to bring my diary down to Starbucks today. I had too many things in my hands, and I don't know why I never learn to bring less or try cramming more in my bag, because I've lost so many things this way.

I ache to find a way to express this heaviness; a mixture of indignation and resignation all at the same time. The only conclusion I have energy enough to dive into is that this world is not equal. And there will always, always, be the sacrifice of one's happiness to suit the greater good.