bright blessed day, dark sacred night

Futile, burrowing in like this but need from time to time to remember that despite it all one is quite inescapably alone. Alone and uncertain as to how to feel about this.

Relieved, on one hand, for it to be this simple. Apprehensive, as to what long-term fallout may entail. Atrophied heart? Unexploited potential? Or, that worst of worst, having not lived a 'full' life (whatever that may mean)?

Ah. This is when voices like Ms. Kent's, unavoidable burden of 'work' and ceaseless rain helps. Not to say that the people one loves so desperately mean any less, just to remind oneself of one's complete lack of consequence in the big picture. 

Yes, I love.

So what? =)

---
EDIT:

Since too often only the melancholy registers here and not enough of the content, this merits updating. Serendipitous reconnecting with old friends - sudden phone calls, unexpected e-mails that leave feverish heart even toastier - What can I say?

Alone. Forever, yes, but never really.

four-letter-word

Realise with a shock have been thrown into the deep end. With the kind of lucid terror only midnight brings, see now that I do not walk, I wade.


(When it rains, as they say, it pours.) 


Breaking the easy surface of these shrugs already are clammy fingers that will keep heart enclutched, for who knows how long. Under cover of those casual, casual laughs is bubbling over what shall soon flood into shoes and leave standing, irrelevant. The coolth of the water now, hides how swiftly it rides. 


High time, high tide. And true to nature, it stands not on ceremony. In now for already too long; am soaked. 


The only thing that can be done is to still. Clench stomach, curl toes, grit teeth. Switch the autonomous nervous system into overdrive and pray, pray that when one is done drowning, there shall be air left to breathe, and sense left to let it in. 


Such elaborate, futile caution; hands tremble. Gloves cannot contain it. =)

Squeak

So this morning, there was a squirrel in my bed, nestled in between three mattresses of varying age and thickness.

Room on roof entails frequent run-ins with creātūrī non homo. The floor is littered with string and fluff that no doubt served until then as furniture in the nest of the squirrel family that exists between the blurry lines of rafter and roof. Pigeons of questionable powers of vision that fly right into windows and then sit on railing, recovering. Bats that cling to floor and mysteriously make disappear milk from saucers and then themselves. Bees that hit against lights again and again in buzzing monotone, forcing fans to be shut and windows to be slid open till they return perhaps to hive under balcony. Spiders: green gold, tiny and translucent, glittering, busy spinning, near ear. I leave out, of course, the feline and canine members of the household.

After a few hours of leaving be with multiple points of exit exposed, Bahadur Shah, courageous young son of Lady of the Sparse Tail, had not yet budged far from under the bed. Next was attempted building bridges of milk-soaked bread, almonds and raisins but this failed to inspire trust also. Bahadur Shah had meanwhile grown quite restless, moving dizzily across tabla tops, performing amateur acrobatics between computer wires, with a pit-stop in the gym bag before some rustling through newspapers.

May may well be the month of all change, it holds the key to where these feet will head next. This so planned year, surprise year, year of loss and gain, books and oscillations, shall yield some of its lessons by May. If only patience were all it took. Patience and close encounters with the curious kind.

For the attentive, Young Bahadur Shah took the long route home, the one made of towels tied on end. And all the while, five measurers of destiny, in a rare cameo appearance, glowed grimly above.

Ami Amo

There exist certain persons who are able - with nothing more than inherent light and native sweetness - to turn the heart over and around. Persons who one may meet after twelve years and yet pick up that last thread of conversation that hovered about a rusty gate, a pinching competition, or another Mario level.

One must guard against pride, cocksurety, and ignorance just as hard as against indecision, self-pity and often - what we think to be - love. But when said persons walk back into the daily scheme of things - if only long enough for some ginger tea, some levity - keeping things at bay becomes irrelevant. There is, for a while, no further need for walls, fists and scowls. Said persons remind us of who we were, where we are likely to be, and reillumine that ghost of Ithaca.

This being the right moment to ask you to remember to thank whichever god you believe in or don't, for creating said persons who bring back from obsolescence, that much abused token of

Friend.