Dusty Pages

[dustydustsworld]

I sit here. At a desk. Sketches of old memories strewn across it. Half-drawn faces, half-drawn smiles—trying to hide the pain they were trying to hide.

I sit here as the colors of my life dwindle, and my sanity fades along with them. Attempts to stay alive, attempts to not be alive—all fused together like branches in an olive tree. Somehow, sunlight managed to seep through and challenge the fuse I've made.

I wonder if the irises still dance, if they are still blue. God knows I feel so. God knows I tried to seek, and I failed. Days were spent by the bottle and little else.

I remember waiting for him. I remember I made it feel welcome. God knows I did. Maybe God knows why I turned sour, why rage got the best of me. I never could keep it steady. So, Paul, once again, I am sorry.

I sit here, at this desk, watching a beautiful death. A once vibrant yellow sunflower is setting low, below the horizon of time. Its once-vivid yellow is now dry, rigid, and will crumble if I touch it. A subtle breeze would strip it bare. So I breathe carefully. Who would want to rush a beautiful death? This withered flower is all I have left, a reminder of what it means to be alive. I feel yellow inside. I can almost still taste it.

Theo—I wish he could see it the way I see it. Beyond this green-hued window, I saw it. On the first day of spring, a barren, knotted, withered, near-dead almond branch shook off the weight of winter. As if it could feel an invincible summer within it. Within days, it bloomed, and the blossoms stretched their petals and danced in the blue sky. Theo, I hope he can see it the way I see it. I hope he is not like me. I hope he understands

I sense the night is drawing near. I sense it will be starry tonight. The divine light will dance in the air, swirling, uniting with my cosmic energy. But I crave a beautiful death. So I stare at it. It’s on my desk.

I haven’t done much with red. Maybe my last piece should be about red. A beautiful death.

[dustydustsworld]

Bike Ride.

I know you. I know you will want to give up.

I wonder if you still remember that none of this matter, nothing really means anything. I thought the same and heres how it goes.

I wonder if you've given up looking for meaning. I know I did. Then I remembered that I am supposed to be here. Despite the late nights I've spent under the weight of my pain. A pain that no one ever saw—how could they? All I ever wore was a smile.

Even though a constant war was waged in my mind that turned my body into stone—and my soul? Oh Lord, I wish I knew where my soul goes when it all falls and it's awful.

Tall tales of happiness didn't seem to bring back the joy that I once knew in my boyhood, where I roamed free in the neighbourhoods thinking good thoughts, though it all was backed by a fire that I had no power to turn down.

I fall down and fall down until the whole town goes to town on my downfall—it’s all my fault—and in their hands it's white chalk, and not a soul stepped up to say, "Hey, we are sorry for the way we treated your soul."

My twenties were spent at the bottom of the rock bottom—burning leaf, burning myself, burning bridges, burning the gods that I grew up with—and I threw up way too many beers I drank too fast just so I could feel something on those god-awful days where I waited for them to apologise and tell me I was good enough.

But all for what, when forgiveness should be mine to give myself? Good enough is never enough, for I never knew that my soul was worth more than the Pharaoh’s gold buried under a tall tomb that failed to fall to the erosion of time. So my soul set sail to cross the oceans of time, through as light dances through space and days spent licking my old wounds that never seem to heal.

Through it all, all I ever found was meaning of what I made sense of the mess they made. So when the sun is at high noon, the day was made and the bed unmade, and I walk into the streets that raised me, face the villains that made me say, "Fuck this, I'll end it tonight," and look them in the eye and smile and forgive them just so I can sleep peacefully at night as the light fades and death comes knocking.

Giving up is not what you need. Giving in, forgiving yourself, and giving meaning to the days to come, and letting go of the days that passed, and looking forward to the glory days that you are sure to see.

Fight.

It's all worth it.

The pain will never end; suffering is yours to end.

I hope you find a drop of love to give yourself today—the love you are so carelessly giving away. Give some of that to you. You deserve to be loved

[dustydustsworld]

Thirty-something years, I still haven't mastered object permanence.

Old wounds, new words — I still bleed the same.

Everything decays.

Everyone leaves.

But me.

Clinging to you, because what else would I do?

Hoping you'd see me.

Hoping this will be what it used to be.

Hoping, till hope becomes the noose that puts me at ease.

I am still at that beach we kissed —

the rain, the thunder —

still makes my heart float.

I am still in that room,

trapped with a monster that gave me birth.

The screaming, the pain —

still make my skin quiver.

I am still waiting for a father who never came.

The longing.

The loneliness.

The fear. Scars on my soul, will never fade.

When will I be whole?

[dustydustsworld]

Something happened and I don't feel like showing you all my emotions anymore. I miss what we used to be. I miss the way we fell in love and now my heartaches when I think about tomorrow and beyond. I know you won't go away. But I'm insane so I like to be sad sometimes about things that haven't happened and will not happen.

[dustydustsworld]

Something happened and I don't feel like showing you all my emotions anymore. I miss what we used to be. I miss the way we fell in love and now my heartaches when I think about tomorrow and beyond. I know you won't go away. But I'm insane so I like to be sad sometimes about things that haven't happened and will not happen.

[dustydustsworld]

Don’t you hate it when love changes?

A change in the weather, a change in her tone, a change within me—is a monsoon storm.

Thunder grows loud inside my bones.

Lightning strikes inside my eyes.

What changed, I wonder?

It’s definitely me—my mind speaks volumes.

Like a fairytale it unfolds, the way we used to be.

The endless love, the affection, the words, the jokes—

all of it is now faded.

What changed, I wonder?

Am I paranoid, or is it because I’ve seen it before?

Not that I’ll know where this will go.

It’s not like she is what they were.

I swore it would be different.

I swore I wouldn’t write her poems.

What changed, I wonder?

[dustydustsworld]

Looks like it's just going to be you and me from now on.

No one wants to hear me whine and cry anymore. When I was a kid, I heard Daffy Duck say, "When you are a clown, nobody takes you seriously," and even at age 7, it hit me hard. Now that I am 35 but feel like a thousand, I wonder...

I wonder if it was my fault that I became a clown? Or was it their fault—for only liking me when I am happy?

They don't seem to know what bipolar means. They don't know that with rain comes shine, and when I shine it blinds me. And when I'm blind, I bring down the blinds and scream at the window for the sun to shine.

"Is that a whine?" they'd ask me. "Why those tears?" They never knew I live in fear. They want me to cheer and be glee. So here—have my mask. They always seemed to love it more than me.

I hope you are not like that. I hope you read this and think of me—the one behind the mask, the battered soul that shines just so they won’t leave me behind. I'm screaming at the top of my lungs in an empty auditorium. No ears to hear me, no lovers to hold me, no parents to see me through.

You are all I have now.

[dustydustsworld]

You must leave, inner child. It's high time. For quite some time, I've been trying my hardest to be rid of you—your antics, tantrums, and self-pity. I've had it with you. The need for love you never got, the need for ears to hear your thoughts, see your little dance, the need for applause.

Look around us—who here carries an inner child anymore? Who else jumps in puddles, skips the cracks on the street, dreams of running through a larger-than-life dandelion, yearns for days when lightning bugs were in their thousands in the garden?

Who even remembers lightning bugs anymore? The machine ate them all. No more green-tinted yellow hues dancing in the night. I know you know it's luciferin that glows in their bottoms; I know you know it means light bearer in Latin. But who cares, inner child? Who cares?

I've been carrying you and my inner demons because you refused to be healed. I'm sick and tired of you both, yelling loudly at every turn, every stop. Stop. I just want the noise to stop.

So here I leave you, inner child. I bid you goodbye. Your incessant need to be loved, needed, and wanted must end here. Your careless dreaming, yearning for things that will never come to pass, the way you get giddy at the slightest excitement—it all ends here.

I must part ways and try to find a way to be normal for a bit. I must stop feeling so deeply and be normal for a bit. Talk about weather and sports and be normal for a bit. Talk with a friend and not make up a future in my head—you know, be normal for a bit.

Drink dark coffee and not think about dying for a bit. Stop looking for love in every stranger and be normal for a bit. Stop staring at the night sky and be normal for a bit. Stop waiting around for a shooting star to turn my life around and be normal for a bit. Not read into things, and let things be—and be normal for a bit.

But I wonder, will I ever be normal? Even for a bit?

[dustydustsworld]

I don't have a lot of memories with my father; he was always busy. He believed in big things. He had a photo on his desk that said, Dream big. But I always said, Wake up before you dream too much.

I remember clearly that he took me out for my first bike ride. I pedaled as hard as I could, looking back at him. "Are you watching me? Am I doing it right?" I probably was. I had training wheels on, so it was easy. I pedaled so fast I could feel my little feet catch fire, lifting off into the air and disappearing.

But freedom finally came when I took off those wheels. I was free to roam, take bends as fast as sound, as fast as light. Visages of the city disappeared faster and faster. Soon, the streets became interstellar space, and I drifted out into the cosmos. Soon, the bike was called youth.

I drifted.

The true curse of freedom: you are not tethered, you are not bound, so no one can hear you make a sound. But that is what I wanted—to be free, to be me, to be there, not here. To be or not to be. So I drifted. Fine wine, cheap wine, cold beer, stolen beer, good weed, cheap weed, good friends, bad friends, highs, lows, valleys, peaks, deserts, deltas, oceans, mountains, couch slouch, running fast, edge of the world, edge of my sanity, looking for clarity, turning a blind eye, depression, manic highs.

I thought I saw it all. But I haven't. I'm still a boy asking his father to validate his dream. Validate his existence.

Aren't you?

Aren't you looking for the same?

Don't lie to me.

I've seen you at your best, looking around. I've seen you at your worst, looking around.

What are you afraid of?

This is the path. This is the way.

I drifted until I realized that is what things do in this universe. A planet the size of Mars crashed into a proto-Earth, and we got the Moon. And if not for the Moon, you and I wouldn’t be here.

We think gravity is a force, but it's not. It's just the way.

Holy shit, am I trying to tell you what the Dao is?

I'm sorry.

I'll stop.

I'll go back to my bike. I'll ride it across town. I'll stop caring about everything else—the car payment, the loans, the pain, the suffering, the lies I tell myself, the lies I tell you.

I'll stop.

I'll stop looking for validation from my father. I'll stop relying on my training wheels.

I'll just drift.

[dustydustsworld]

You searched for love, and what did you end up finding?

Was it heartache from a broken heart? Did it crack your skin like dry earth in a drought? Did your tears do their best to bring life back to your lonely cheeks—the ones that went looking for kisses but ended in tears?

How many times did it happen? Did it almost work? Did it last? Did they say yes? Did they get down on one knee? Did you tie the knot? Did they grow old and change? Did they leave? Did they pass? Did you leave? Did you change? Did you refuse? Did you ask for me? Did you doubt? Did you lie? Did you break?

All for a hit of oxytocin? Was it worth it? Did it make you feel complete? Insane? Blind? Over the moon? On cloud nine? Did all love songs finally make sense? Did you stay up all night? Did you dream? Did you manifest? Did you do things you didn't want to do? Did you lie? Did you say yes? Did you become someone new?

All for a hit of oxytocin? Did you endure? Did you cry? Did you lie? Did you hide? Did you put on a brave face? Did you throw it all away? Did you smile through tears? Did you say it wouldn't happen again? Did they? Did you make up? Did you go to dinner and a movie and start over?

Love is not love if it's a question. But this world is full of love that is full of questions. Oxytocin is not love. Love happens in the soul, and among 8 billion people, you can only love one person. There is a soulmate for all of us, and that person is you—the one who stuck by when love failed, the one that held you when it was dark beyond. Love that person deeply. Only they know what you've been through.

[dustydustsworld]

If not for love,

I'd be soulless.

If not for love,

I'd be painless.

Longing and waiting,

a long game to play.

Yearning and wanting,

I am sure to fail.

Would I rather be grey?

Would I rather be glee?

Did I make the right call,

or have I set myself up for a fall?

If not for love,

I'd be dead.

If not for love,

I'd be all done and said.

Despite the pain,

I chose to love.

Despite the burden,

I chose to be yours.

The heartache,

the tears, the drama,

the way I miss you,

the thousand ways to kiss you—

all but a wisp in a storm.

One day you'll be mine,

one day I'll be yours.

This story will never end.

If not for love,

I'd be dead and gone.

If not for love,

I'd be normal.

But God, why on earth

would I want to be normal?

[dustydustsworld]

This came out better than I expected! Need to refine my janky set up before the eclipse!

[dustydustsworld]

So what will it be this time? What will break your heart this time? Why must we walk around this world of rock and metal, amongst people with hearts of rock and metal, clutching our hearts of glass?

I hope you get a chance to breathe today. I hope you get a chance to sit and listen to the rain.

The smell of the good earth—petrichor. Doesn't it remind you of the innocence of days before? Days before they found ways to wound you a hundred times. A thousand cries. Ten thousand lies.

When the rain stops, summer will die. The beautiful death will begin when the first maple turns red and the ginkgo leaves become yellow. Thousands will gather for the funeral, but who will watch when they are barren, frozen, and lifeless?

Remember you said you wouldn’t? You wouldn’t do it again? Did you forget that the universe is cyclical? It's just pattern following pattern following pattern. If it happens once, it will happen again.

I know that's why you can't breathe, sit still, and why you are constantly looking over your shoulder. Looking for love in every stranger’s eyes. Only to be hurt, lost, and end up here again.

You know this pattern. You know that only love can heal you. The love you never got. The love that was taken away. The love you never had. The love you never gave.

I hope one day you can love without expectations, love without wanting, love without controlling—a love that sets you free rather than binds you, a love that wakes you in the morning and makes you want to smile and jump out of bed. A love that is yours. A love that comes from within.

I hope you wake up tomorrow, see yourself in the mirror, and fall in love. I hope you sit still, drink tea, and enjoy the sound of the rain. I hope you get the chance to watch the leaves turn this autumn.

I hope you get a chance to talk to the dead tree and, with them, hear Mother Nature's undying lullaby she's been humming for us forever.

Listen, and be in love. With yourself.

[dustydustsworld]

These rivers they keep flowing. They change colour and their course as time flees faster than these dreams ever would.

Who knew things will be okay one day. Who knew one day it will all make sense. How can one dream and hope when all you hear are voices.

Voices that were never tamed and only shamed. Called you names and convinced you to die.

Yes, I am loud and proud. So proud to be alive and to be living what was once my faint dreams.

I hear the echoes of a younger life. One that dared and say one day I'll be on my feet. And the pain would not keep me down. I hope he can see me and I hope I can see him. To see the glee in his eyes and shake our heads in agreement. I hope one day these rivers cross paths and we will see each other for a glimpse, a moment.

I am a tired lonely boatswain. My crew was lost at sea. Storms came by and took us one by one. I am salted. I taste one with the sea and maybe because of that, I am not afraid anymore. All I need is courage. And one day I'll make landfall. My boat crashed on the shore. I no longer care. When death faces me and ask me questions, I would laugh and would not care. I don't think death will dare, for I've defeated death over and over.

[dustydustsworld]

Where did we all go wrong? I wonder. I know you do too. I know you are restless when you sleep—faceless in the daylight, afraid to face the world, unable to recognize the face staring back at you in the mirror.

The error is not ours, so you can rest easy.How can a shiny mirror reveal the flaws we hide?The ones we are quiet about.The ones that haunt us and keep us awake,fighting for sleep, alone with our thoughts,walking these lonely roads of life.

How are we reduced to a job?How is your net worth worth more than the gold that lies at the foot of your soul?Why is the noise louder than your voice?Why do the ice caps melt, yet we soldier on,asking God to give us our daily bread?When will we get out of our heads?

Let’s head to a better land—one without desire.Where the only fire that burns is in our campfire.Where you and I lay side by side, watching the night sky.The crescent moon dangles, the clouds want to play.One by one, we'll count the stars,and I'll tell you all about constellations and their age-old tales.

You have weathered storms you won’t talk about.You have seen horrors that silenced you,stealing the words from your mouth.When all was dark, you lit a candle in your heart. And called it hope.

Maybe—just maybe—that candle will become a lightning bug.And it will find mine.And together, they will find the others.And soon, nine billion lightning bugs will light up the night.

But for now, the night is endless.Come, take a seat.We’ll watch the stars go by and make a wish that tomorrow never comes.

Because today is all we have.

[dustydustsworld]

Where does it all go? This anger is blinding. This hunger? I am starving. Trying to hurt me, trying to end the pain. The pain is me so with it lights off, good night. Never ever wake up to the nightmare that is the reality of society that makes me nauseous.

Everytime I come in here it's your bullshit. Trying to change the world when you and I don't even understand who you and I are? Did I not tell you we are Starborn? Was I not convincing enough? Did you forget? I sure tend to forget. Relive and wonder where all this deja vu comes from. Reliving the same day for 34 year and still think time is real. Reliving the same pain and still not realising it's not pain but suffering. Holding on to coal just to feel alive. 

Just to feel alive? What is life but an engima where the answer lies at the end of it? Right before the tunnel of lights end, you'll see you. Smiling. Asking if the ride was worth it? Asking your favourite bit? But before you answer it, poof, puff, bam, you are coming into this again.

You've read this so many times, but still don't remember the words. I've written this so many times, but I still don't remember the words. So we are both bound to this madness that creates a sadness in our minds. The machine slurping our soul from a metal straw. 

Hate him, hate her, hate myself, hate yourself, hate school, hate the job, hate the society. The list is endless. But what do we love? What must we love? What is love in a world driven by profit and productivity? What is love when you are a pawn in a larger game? You don't even know the name, you don't even see the present. Tense, that's how you feel. I know exactly how tense. Past and future is where we be. But hey? Try to be present? 

[dustydustsworld]

I am sorry.

What am I doing? How am I on chapter 28 of the first draft? Chapter 1 - 7 took nearly an year to finish. 

7-19? Less than a month. Then I took a month off to be fucking depressed and tried to suicide thrice. But turns out my vitamin D was super low. 

Now chapter 19-28 in 9 days. It's going super well?

Is this normal? Is this supposed to happen?

I sat on this story for 7 fucking years. Just pacing around the house stoned or drunk out of my skull. But it's finally happening!

This isn't real.

I'll wake up and I'll still be in 2018.

Please let this be real.