2004-04-25

What I Must Say

I wanted to tell you what life is like when you taste perfection.

A perfection that weakens you and levels you with its presence.

I wake up thankful amidst the morning darkness, and I think of the broken glass of the past. I think of a lonely dusk, and of those children playing in the street.

I also think of how miserable I have felt as a creature, and of how valuable. I think far too much at times--perhaps to find answers.

You force me to shed tears

You force my heart to jump wildly

You flood my soul with life

And I could continue into the very depths of infinity...

This physical distance is one that I underestimated. However, I calm my mind with thoughts of you.

Torrential tears are dying to get out, and I drown in this desperation, this want, this need...

Above all, I become angry because part of me is witnessing my soul bend. Part of me is witnessing me fall in love again--a slow process.

I tire of lending out this heart only to have it returned shattered to pieces with some air of superciliousness from the borrower. At that moment, identity needn't matter, for one feels like an outcast--some hideous and miserable creature tossed out. The majority of the time we focus on figuring out in what ways do we displease.

It is the end that haunts me, and I can navigate the seas after realizing how pitiful, hopeful, sad-romantic, idealistic, I am.

An infinite verse is not necessary for me to say that there is a feeling within me that cannot be ignored, and it feels like sweet pathos. Sweet pathos because all I can do is feel this knot in my throat, and all I can do is think of how much I miss him.

Yet, this is my battle--no one else's. It is within me that this feeling burns, and no where else. I keep this bottled inside and confess it to this cyber-world, and anyone who cares to read.

One day, I will approach that communist poet, and the words will effortlessly float as I tell him how he makes my heart toss.

aeka at 6:33 p.m.