Window Philosopher

Follow the sun

[purelythoughthoardingdragon]

Existimus.

Death is unfathomable, yet inevitable. Everyone must eventually perish into nothing, hoping they have left traces of themselves behind — in memories, in places they once frequented, in the lives they once touched.

It is an undeniable human instinct to let someone know that they were here, that they existed, that they lived. Every little thing done seems to scream against oblivion: proof that there was once someone who laughed, loved, survived, and kept moving forward despite everything that tried to halt them.

Perhaps that is why humans leave mementos behind. A scratch on a tree trunk, a handprint pressed into stone, a scribbled name in the corner of a page — small proofs of existence. Tiny rebellions against disappearance.

Something that says: someone stood here before you. Someone lived. Someone endured.

Maybe that is all humanity has ever wanted — not immortality, but remembrance. To plant their feet into the soil that rooted and nurtured them, and leave behind something that whispers, long after they are gone, that they were once alive.

[purelythoughthoardingdragon]

Faith and Mischief

Bring love, kind, soft and sweet. Understanding and brilliant, one that can’t be looked away from. Bring love, true, steadfast and unwavering, with belief being the thread that holds it close.

Bring joy in a bundle and affection that is endless. Bring faith and mischief, laughter that rings in the walls and peace that sings the songs that no one can silence. Bring secrets meant for two and giggles galore.

Let it thrive as it grows, let it shine and make whole. Too many love stories, too many immortalisations, yet no completion. Let it defy fate, let it stand against time. Let it be unshakable and unmovable, dauntless and firm, like the mountains to the sea. Let it be a force of nature that nothing can trifle with.

Let it come to be when the time is right. Gift it with patience and strength to talk, even when the worst seems to stand before it. Let happiness come and remain. Let it be what is needed and what is wanted.

Tragedies have been uncountable; let this one be an exception.

[purelythoughthoardingdragon]

On Devotion.

Devotion is used too easily, the word losing its gravitas. How dare one use the word that defined the dedication of Orpheus to Eurydice? How dare one compare themselves to Eros, who defied divine will for Psyche, or to Penelope, who waited til Odysseus found his way home?

How does one use it so frivolously when it speaks of the resolve of devotees to their Gods — a faith unmoved and unchallenged by even the cruelest obstacles?

Yet when he swears to stay, to choose his end by my side, I think I understand what devotion feels like.

When my mind finds no shelter from the demons of its own making but seems to fall silent in his presence, I think I know devotion.

Devotion for me is not something that gives up on self respect, but rather something that feels like the star that guides me home.

[purelythoughthoardingdragon]

When the world slumbers

When the world slumbers

Perhaps I was made to love the darkness. To feel at home when the world falls asleep. To not want to crawl out of my skin and become someone I think is better.

Perhaps I was made to think that I become sane when the moon is high, the soft light bathing me in something pure, like I deserve to rest as I am.

I write only when I feel too much, and I write every night. So why does the night make me feel? Do I have demons I hide from, and the night brings them out?

I belong in the night with ambition as fuel and wants as motivation. Perhaps that’s why I love the villains and think the night is safe. Because somehow nothing ever seems like it’s too much under the covers of a dark sky.

[purelythoughthoardingdragon]

The Boy Who Carried the Sun

He was fire — warm, bright, comforting, passionate. She was ice — cold, sharp, quiet in the way winter seas are quiet.

Opposites, and yet somehow each other’s everything. He melted her heart; she steadied his mind.

Green jade threaded with sunlight formed his eyes. Hers were dark oceans, edged with seafoam. He looked toward the future with hope until everything came shattering down, until his own mind turned against him and he began to lose himself.

She stood beside him through all of it — constant, solitary, unwavering. She loved him like the ocean loves the moon: deeply, helplessly, from afar.

And he loved her like lava beneath the earth — ever-present, burning, deceptively silent.

It hurt her to watch him change. Somewhere beneath the grief and exhaustion, she still searched for the boy who carried the sun in his heart. Nights dissolved into muffled sobs and silent prayers for things to return to what they once were.

Two hearts beating in separate places, both grieving the same loss: the people they used to be

[purelythoughthoardingdragon]

What the books foretold.

The love you long for is old-fashioned and soft, with more intimacy than physicality. You wish for the metaphors and song lyrics you grew up with, of love that was devotion, of the beloved being an image of God. You want to sway with someone in the dimmed lights of the living room, play fight, and wrestle with laughter being your companion. You want to fall asleep in the arms of someone who brings sleep easy to you, who makes you feel safe in their embrace. You want someone to be unable to keep their eyes off you. To bring the songs of love and devotion that you’ve memorised to life. You want the playfulness of children and deep conversations of adults, the tight hug in tears, and a warm laugh in happiness. The love you want is the one in movies, where God is seen in you, the words of books where the unyielding one, the one who always remains so proud, bows in front of you. You want dances in the rain, songs hummed in silence, whispers of thoughts in darkness. The love you want is a figment that you’ve made up. Through movies and books, songs and poems, you’ve felt what they have, but no one but words and pictures on screens has brought you close to a feeling that makes mountains crumble.

Maybe someday you’ll feel it too, but for now, these will have to suffice.

[purelythoughthoardingdragon]

Seasons.

Soft grins with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, he brought relief when he held her hand. Years had been good to him, making him look more refined as he gazed deeply with gentle adoration. Looking from afar, it’s almost like a movie scene, his smile fond as he watched her talk and grin with bright eyes. At a glance, anyone could tell immediately that they were opposites, him in his calm stillness and her with her excited motion. He had no idea there was someone else watching him, melancholy eyes with nostalgia coloring memories of the time he was close to her, a time when they shared secrets, and it was them against the world. Eyes that gleamed with unshed tears, holding unsaid words, the last time they saw each other was burned in the mind.

Her breaking his heart, and him staring at her with unanswered questions and sadness as his heart split in two. Now they were strangers; she didn’t cross his mind; it was obvious. His attention was now on someone who radiated warmth, unlike the one who, in his mind, was winter personified.

[purelythoughthoardingdragon]

Old-Fashioned

The love you long for is old-fashioned and soft. With more intimacy than physicality. You wish for the metaphors and song lyrics you grew up with, of love that was devotion, of the beloved being an image of God. You want to sway with someone in the dimmed lights of the living room, play fight, and wrestle with laughter being your companion.

You want to fall asleep in the arms of someone who brings sleep easy to you, who makes you feel safe in their embrace. You want someone to be unable to keep their eyes off you. Bring the songs that you’ve memorised to life. You want the playfulness of children and deep conversations of adults, the tight hug in tears, and a warm laugh in happiness.

The love you want is the one in movies, where God is seen in you, the words of books where one so proud bows in front of you. You want dances in the rain, songs hummed in silence, whispers of thoughts in darkness. The love you want is a figment that you’ve made up. Through movies and books, songs and poems, you’ve felt what they have, but no one but words and pictures on screens has brought you close to a feeling that makes mountains crumble. 

Maybe someday you’ll feel it too, but for now, these will have to suffice.

[purelythoughthoardingdragon]

Rename

You never knew your name could sound so beautiful until you heard it from his mouth. Never did you know that something so common that you hear every day will sound like it's a gospel when it escapes his lips. When he utters your name, it’s like you have heard it for the first time, like you were nameless until the moment he spoke of you, like this was the first time you had ever heard your name. The power he held on you was stronger than any spell. Your name never sounded so sweet, not till this moment when his voice was kissing every syllable that made up your identity. How silly was it that your name, something everyone called you, was now baptised with his declaration of the sound. What once was common now felt holy, pure, and untouchable. Almost as if everyone including you had been calling it out wrong, like the only pronunciation that was right was the one that he did. It was like no one had the right to refer to you, including your own self, no one other than him could say it anymore. The right to enunciate your name was snatched from the world but only belonged to him. Why did no one warn you that people like him exist? Him, who kisses your name as it leaves his lips rather than simply saying it, Him whose eyes whisper your name when he simply gazes at you. No one warned you that he exists, that he could change, the way you are named.

[purelythoughthoardingdragon]

Him.

“Even when I wish I could curse you, your name escapes my mouth like a prayer.” No matter where she ran or how far she went, his thoughts remained like a part of her. He haunted her without meaning to; everything around her was somehow associated with him; The night sky was his hair, the soil grounding the tree resembled his eyes, the scent of eucalyptus drifting lazily in the cool air of the night was his embrace.  Nothing yet everything was somehow related to him.

His ghost chasing her no matter where she went, etched in her memories was every moment she ever spent in his presence. He hurt her, forced her to walk away, yet he seemed to follow her, his voice ringing in her ears, the vitriol of hatred in his harsh words and fire that burned in his eyes when he pushed her way. It spun in her head, not a minute where she could find peace.

[purelythoughthoardingdragon]

Revenants

A phantom embrace accompanied by the ghost of a familiar scent.  A mirage of warmth. The whispers of a voice long gone, a laugh unheard in years. Somehow, it was like he never left. His presence etched deeply into every corner of the old apartment. The echo of his singing rang out in the silence, almost like he was in the next room, playing music softly and wearing headphones, oblivious to the world around him. The shadow of his figure in the bedroom doorway, as if he was standing with his back turned. Stepping into the house that once had two people living, alive, brilliant, and happy, it suddenly came back. The lights seemed to be switched on, the playlist of soft songs connected to the speaker, 2 figures in each other’s arms, moving in the small space in the living room.

He was alive, standing in front with his arms open to catch you when you ran into his frame to be safe. His arms didn't hold you, though; you ran to the air, to a scent lingering in your mind. The flame that burnt in your heart was not in fron of you anymore. And then it all came crashing in, breaking the illusory spell cast. The apartment was quiet; there was no one but you and your breath. He was not there; he had left a long time back, and nothing could bring him back.

[purelythoughthoardingdragon]

Balance

It has always been delicate, the line you loved to toe. The sides you played and the gambles you took. Every hushed scheme slithered its way into a win. You adored taking chances because you craved the rush. Now, when the game's afoot, you pretend you know nothing of the outcomes as if you haven't already decided who will emerge victorious.

The control you exerted over every factor was invisible, crafted to appear as if it were just a flimsy tug of effort that would lead nowhere. You knew what the move would be for checkmate, and you played into it. You had no intentions to win, just to pick the winner. You played your hands in the guise of missteps to lull them into believing you were powerless. They never anticipated you, the one who took them out from the shadows, all while looking lost in the light.

[purelythoughthoardingdragon]

Tune.

Soft humming, strumming of guitars, piano keys following an order of notes. Songs are easy, a pattern to their beauty, but a tune from within is rare. Lyrics that stay and shape the songs are few, but nothing to hum, to remember leaves an emptiness that can't be filled.

You, who moved like a melody, carried yourself with a rhythm known only to you, will you still be the same one as in memories? Your presence filled a hole that had existed quietly, without notice, until you decided to make it home. You came in like a song, left like a whisper, with just a tune to remember you by.

[purelythoughthoardingdragon]

Nostalgia.

Sepia-coloured filters with echoes that seem happier than they truly were, have you reached where you wanted? Bursts of emotions that bring memories like fuel for the moment until they vanish. Ephemeral and soft. Hindsight was never 20/20; it was always slightly warmer with corrections you wish you had made then. Do butterflies ever look back at the flowers they left behind, something you'd never know. The past was called a shackle for a reason. How long do you wish to be bound? Do you wish to be who you were then, or will you be who you then wished you would be?

You've run long enough; take a breath. Look at where you are. Are you still you from those memories that always seem happier, or are you someone who will go ahead with the actual dreams that beckon you?