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I'm the beautiful rain when my heart is dry.

[amepluie]

i miss my favorite cat and my favorite person. death is the farthest distance between us

[amepluie]

Yes, it is good for me; it's as good a I deserve; for who fetched me so low, when I was high? I did myself. I don't blame you, gentlemen--far from it; I don't blame anybody. I deserve it all. Let the cold world do its worst; one thing I know--there's a grave somewhere for me. The world may go on as it's always done, and take everything from me--loved ones, property, everything--but it can't take that. Some day I'll lie down in it and forget it all, and my poor broken heart will be at rest.

(The Duke) The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain

[amepluie]

i am tired and all i want is to sleep--my eyes are badly asking me to do so; my head hurts like it won’t end. most of the days, 1am onwards is where i am so much awake. sometimes i get afraid when it comes for i feel like that i am sinking and fading through the room’s darkness as the hours pass; it’s a live void.

[i actually do not want to entertain these thoughts and feelings for i do not want it to be true; for i do not want to validate their unsure existence within me.]

how does one escape from a quicksand? ......................

[fuck, i am thinking a lot now but i am out of words. and no, i’m not gonna cry.] this is one reason why a sleep doesn’t feel like one whenever i wake up. as i open my eyes, the first thing my mind would scream, with a manner of panic, is still “let me sleep.” it is as if i was just closing my eyes for the whole hours that have passed.

all i know is i am aware when i choose to stay up late and when i don’t; right now, as i am typing this, it’s the latter again.

[amepluie]

i must not explode i must not explode i must not explode i must not explode i must not

i

                 explode

[amepluie]

i get hurt too just like you you’re so far but you make me feel so sad

[amepluie]

[amepluie]

no rain, no flower

[amepluie]

[amepluie]

[amepluie]

still the water

[amepluie]

after /enough/ drinking, we walked down the streets while scream-singing songs; we were alive

[amepluie]

i miss my muse still you

[amepluie]

2016 draft

The half of this year started to crumble me. There are many things that happened, which I admit, I think aren't acceptable. I don't even have enough strength to look back at them for me to try to understand---mainly, why the fuck they need to happen. I am always afraid of answers. This heart can still feel and be loaded, but I'm telling you, it cannot digest right anymore. This is the longest I can express. I find it hard to write whenever I feel too much.

[amepluie]

example: your departure that i deny everyday

[amepluie]

[i had to write my 2am thoughts #1]

   Everything has beginning, middle and end. As you wake up and stretch. You lift your hands up. Then maybe you'd get up to meet your coffee. Prepare for today. You go out. Do your thing. And, what's next? Is there still next? Or would that be the last? Maybe you have just started?

   In everyday we do, everything we have or anything we had, has those (at least) three phases. For example (take the following phrases of situation as general as they could be):

I'm just here. You came. You waited. You stayed. We stayed. We fought life.   You left.

   See? Everything has beginning, middle and end. But as this life goes by, have we asked ourselves about those phases? Are they self-inflicted? We seemed to label every thing. So maybe we can label beginning as ending and so on. Can we put the middle in the end and put the beginning in the middle?

We fought life. You waited. You left. I'm just here. You came. You stayed. We stayed.

   It's better. If we get to choose when would we like something to happen, it becomes way more comforting to accept. But just like counting—one of the basic things that we could go back to—we have labeled number one as always the first and number two as the second and so does the upcoming number that laterally on life situations, we know that what happened now was because of what happened earlier so that would affect what will happen later and so on. On this matter of wanting, we would defy the logic of order up to the actuality of one thing.

   It's quite impossible to happen that you could actually choose what you would like to happen—pertains more on circumstances that are out of people's bare hands—but if ever that happens, one same thing from before will stay: the ending. Look back on our situation. Is the order was our real problem? Sometimes we want go back on something because we didn't like how it resulted as what you have in present. Basically, we didn't like how it ended but maybe mostly, we didn't like that it had to end.

   However, does ending are really the actual end? Or it's just what it looked like? Is ending really inevitable? Whenever we count, we were the one who stopped. Not the process itself. We ended it. We have put an end to something that could be continued. So, where does ending truly exist?

   Though, let us look at the number itself. Example, number one. Number one ended as to the point you came to number two. As we regard of what end means—the point at which something no longer continues to happen or exist—number one ceased as number two emerged. Is number two became the limit point of number one? Or number two is a continuation of number one's existence?

   Did it end? On what form does ending actually appears? Are we really satisfied how we know endings work?

Maybe, I'm not but not just because

[amepluie]

Riddles

i had a dream, last last night saw myself standing in a pitch-black  place and i know i'm not alone. nothing was vivid than the voices i heard they surrounded me like the cold air did riddles - that's what the words seemed to me. my mouth got no answer- -that's where consequences appeared: eerie creatures.

there's this woman, embracing me from behind i can't move; am i still breathing? her dress clings to me, to my entire body and her silky hair as well tighter and tighter. i can't move; am i still existing? until her long fingers went into my face slowly cupping my head; my skull. her lengthy fingernails scratched my skin - blood dripping. i can't move; am i still dreaming? i am sinking. i am disappeari---

[amepluie]

sunday / 1:30am — we rushed my dad to hospital. we’ve been fighting for his life for years. moment like this wasnt new for us, for me. but every fucking time that this happens, i always feel doomed. i dont know how to explain but i feel like a hole.

every time that he closes his eyes, i use all my energy not to cry a single tear while saying “dad, wake up” and all my effort to say those 3 words without cracking a voice.

but then, thank you—for opening your eyes again while death is beside you; i know how you struggled to let yourself go from the death’s grip and thats the time i knew we got you again because i felt your hand gripped mine, it was yours—dad. thank you, most precious.