thoughts after a thunderstorm

dear you,

a neighbour plays her piano, the notes drifting from the distance. I imagine she feels the calmness too, the damp leaves and the stirring of activity. It feels wonderful to do nothing, and just watch the trees that live beyond your window. They call out to me, and I have visions of myself walking through crisp forests with gentle breezes. I wonder if I had been an adventurer in my past life. I wonder if I had breathed in the air of indescribable fascination at the beauty this world can possess.

xx,
CLL

it isnt

dear you,

thank you.

thank you klee, for your quiet presence, for skype sessions though I hide myself. thank you gavgav, for talking to me as we walk back home, for breakfast initiatives. thank you zain, for making me laugh, and for your company i have learnt to find solace in. thank you clemon, for always making me smile, for your embrace that i can only describe as safety. thank you nic and eugene for mala and education on Indonesia. thank you wan, for little comments of encouragement. thank you sid, for cute text messages and weird pictures.

you don't know how each day you spur me to take new breath.


xx,
CLL

i am bathed in a sultry rosewater of words, ideas –– when Fear ceases to be your fuel.

right now like this,
I am only an outline with a heavy head. i don't comprehend my feelings i can't comprehend my feelings which one i am not sure. i only run my fingertips over my temples, the veins that protrude and remind me of pain. i am empty. i don't remember very much. the only sense of comfort comes in lying down and curling into myself, mingling with the covers and staring into space.

maybe this is the end. the end of this or the end of me. the end of this and the end of me. we will see. how long these vines have curled around me, how impossible the escape... we will see.

All, entirely.

Dear you,

I think... the strongest, most perfect hearts are the ones that break. The ones that latch onto words like Bible verses, even though experience has been enough to teach them of how empty words can be. I think the most wonderful hearts are the ones that do not take for granted, the ones that fall before thinking, supposing, questioning. The ones that first have faith. Those that reach deeply into the soils of the earth in love, but whose leaves are the easiest to sway in the wind; swaying, swaying, each breath through the pores of its canopy. All, entirely.

xx,
CLL

Dear you,

Today I was told that I need to learn "to be less creative".i want to fly away. the words are just words now and they flood my brain but i can't make out any meaning. i look at pages out of necessity if not sheer dread and i want to choke on all my worksheets shove them down my throat- if it can be done in metaphors it can be done in real life.