Patricia decided to have an affair with the arctic winds today, and thats what I woke up to. Thunder and darkness. Thunder, yes I love. Mornings that are dark, no thank you. That's just the reminder I need that winter is not that far away. The goddamn darkness! Dark mornings, dark afternoons. GROAN.

And my umbrella broke. My beautiful Burberry umbrella that matches my Burberry scarf. Seriously, Patricia, you could have ransacked a warehouse instead of my umbrella. Now my scarf is lonely.

I muttered, moaned and cursed a lot today. Sorta. I mean, more than I usually do. I'm still nice. But really really whipping cold winds that make me defy gravity and rains that soak me to the skin are not user-friendly.

The irony is that of course me being the hopeless romantic, I used to argue that walking in the rain is, no really, so fun! And now. I can't argue with you. You're not here.

Rain makes me morose and depressed. Sorry. This kind of rain. What was I thinking when I thought it would be a great idea to write about my day?

Oh. Actually, there was something nice. The rain stopped.

And then it wasn't so dark.

And then I was walking over this super lush vivid green field, glowing with verdant 'cause it just got a super watershake to glug all day.

And the leaves were on the grass. And they were yellow and they were red.

And it was twilight and the sky was sort of glowing like a pink grapefruit with its greying blue dolphin backdrop.

And OK.

It was beautiful.

Meowthematics

Déjà Vecu

Watch when this girl goes back in time to meet her ten-year-younger self who gives her the lecture of a lifetime she forgot she ever gave and needed.

Live to Love - Back To The Future

Speechless.

Bereft

I hid in darkness for fear of tainting the world with my poison for as long as I could. I felt it almost tangibly, a black inkiness extending its tentacles glibly and fluidly in all dimensions, temporal and spatial. The hooks embedded inside of me tugged me apart violently yet still holding me together. Pain had no realm, dancing over physical and emotional and blurring the lines so much I no longer felt the pain because of the sheer numbing agony.

There were too many people who cared. Who shook their heads sadly. Offering tissues. I don't need help.

I have gotten off the train before its left behind the past for too long, just so I dont break down in the crushing claustrophia of the scant crowds. It didn't matter if it was one or a thousand. It was too much. Instead, I walked the two hour commute back, lost and rambling, and in the newly arrived cold.

A child patting my hand to tell me it's OK only reminds me of the child we have lost. It's not safe to talk to strangers I tell her with my eyes. She's just learnt to walk, how has she leant to decipher pain?

Small steps, he said. Small steps. But I've fallen. I'm down. I'm walking. But where is home?

Thanksgiving Love Letter

A few posts ago, I wrote about being my own hero. I still stand by that - maybe more than ever. The thing is, I didn't count on the cavalry stampeding in.

I wasn't looted or ravaged (well...ahem...not quite). I was doing a good job of that myself, emotionally speaking. No: the cavalry stampeded in to my rescue.

Said cavalry is enumerated briefly by certain best friends (autocorrect+sloppy fingers made that butt fiends, which is also sort of correct). Not many. Not even a hand - and I am quite seriously including my cat to this list.

However small their number though, their force is legion.

To be sure, by dint of their very positions as bffs, it could just as well said to be a protracted outcome of my very selfsame heroism. Cuz, theyre my best friends cuz like I'm so totally cool right. (Should clarification be required, that was not a question. At all.) So, just by my awesomeness I perpetuated my own personal saving by cavalry therefore I am still my own hero. (Don't argue. Close your mouth. More on this later.)

There are three of you, plus my cat. And my cat is sleeping on the notebook I originally started writing this love letter upon which she settled very meaningfully: human, you give me all thy love, screw the others.

I actually sent a very cheesy ecard to thank one of you. Apparently it didn't go through or something, so yeah, if you didn't get it that was you.

Really though. Thank you. I still stand by being my own hero, but I also really do have some other heroes I never implicitly asked for and who really actually inspire me. Because, if you have to put up with me.....geez, you're a star.

My own star might fade today or tomorrow, or in the next 30 years, but in the last several days especially...well, if I have ever needed hope, it isn't as far off as I might think. In each moment I've been able to laugh, or make someone laugh, or share a thought that is so amazingly understood without further discourse, or engage in really weird languages and conversations, or to bother the next person's sleep and boss them around, or threaten to punch the light out of your boss, or kiss your warm, soft tummy....( THAT ONE WAS FOR MY CAT, LOSERS). These are instances right there that each moment, as miserable and dementingly depressed I think it is, is still being lived. Hallmark card dorkiness, I know! But trust me its the tip of the... tip of the iceberg of love I feel, and I really could never express how much love I feel in my heart so will thereby refrain from doing so herein.

Thank you bums for being my Justice League.

With love and hugs and OK enough now get lost, ugh.

Poem of the Day: Longfellow - Endymion

Endymion
(Ballads and Other Poems 1842)


The rising moon has hid the stars;
Her level rays, like golden bars,
   Lie on the landscape green,
   With shadows brown between.

And silver white the river gleams,
As if Diana, in her dreams
   Had dropt her silver bow
   Upon the meadows low.

On such a tranquil night as this,
She woke Endymion with a kiss,
   When, sleeping in the grove,
   He dreamed not of her love.

Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,
Love gives itself, but is not bought;
   Nor voice, nor sound betrays
   Its deep, impassioned gaze.

It comes,--the beautiful, the free,
The crown of all humanity,--
   In silence and alone
   To seek the elected one.

It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep
Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep,
   And kisses the closed eyes
   Of him who slumbering lies.

O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes!
O drooping souls, whose destinies
   Are fraught with fear and pain,
   Ye shall be loved again!

No one is so accursed by fate,
No one so utterly desolate,
   But some heart, though unknown,
   Responds unto his own.

Responds,--as if with unseen wings,
An angel touched its quivering strings;
   And whispers, in its song,
   "Where hast thou stayed so long?"

Lucubration

Today, I randomly pulled out one of my many old notebooks. It was one where I would write down pieces or excerpts from whatever I was reading at that time, and is about ten years old.

Passage therefrom:

"She was so lucky. So few people really had the love of their lives with them. Most people yearned for lost chances. For opportunities missed. It would be a stupid woman who would give away one moment of this time by fretting and agonizing and trying to redefine the past"

(The Glass Lake, Maeve Binchy)

tbt: 5 Years Ago...

Thursday, October 07, 2010 Sprig

SUNSHINEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
After such a long long time, I've been infected with the sunshine bug! It feels so great, I honestly can't describe this feeling. Despite everything else that may be pulling me down and around and around, there it is, me living through it all
I miss those good old days, everyone used to call me Sunshine ehehe just hearing it being called from far and around the corner and everything, it was like my new name, it replaced my name. Just got a dose of flashback - I miss it, but like someone who was one of the best friends I had, for however short that time - it's up to me to live it, now! A whole bunch of songs from Aashayein are playing and all of a sudden, it's like a butterfly flying around me and then finally landing and its like CLICK its back home where it belongs.

For however short this feeling lasts, at least I'll have it down for record.

Originally posted at Lucid Iridescence.

Caryatid

Love: a feeling, promise, or contract?

At the very simplest form, we understand love to be a feeling. What else is love if it weren’t for feelings; what is felt; experienced?

But it isn’t just quite that exactly. The feelings itself is exclusive to the other party: it’s all about the personal experience even if stimulated by an externalizing factor.

As a promise, love takes a step up: it could be still purely personal and isolated in giving all to the sentiments of the feeling, but more often than not this signifies a transfer of something from one to another.

And yet a promise - could that also be a contract? A contract implies an agreement between two (or more) parties, and somehow there is something being exchanged – a two-way connection is developed.

But what happens when circumstances alter the very entity of that love? When things cannot be the same, when the exchange of that something isn’t exactly as dynamic as it once was? Is that still love?

Does love mean you abide and adhere to that something no matter what? That you hang on just because of something that existed in the past, and in anticipation of a tomorrow that would provide rational for simply hanging on today?

But what if every today keeps adding up, and soon all the weight of the past todays accumulated suddenly outweigh what once used to be the past? What if every today is hanging on, alone?

Suddenly this contract, be it signed in blood or tears, seems null and void. Even promises break. Feelings disperse. Even blood and tears dissipate into nothingness once again. Maybe love does too.