Insignificant other

There are people who fancy acting like members of a classy clique. There are some who think they are a catch and a photo of them in a skimpy outfit would make the half of the world’s total population drool over their body. There are people who enjoy teasing strangers via internet with cheap talks in bad grammar. And there are some who enjoy talking ceaselessly about their life, as if they have significant roots in the society and listening to their stories is a fucking once in a lifetime privilege.

And there are people like you, who personify all these characteristics.

Your substandard lifestyle, your conflicting principles, your dense arguments and your delusions brought me to the brink of disgust.

Still counting

Almost four years have passed but there is still a tinge of pain every time you mention her name. How she still affects your mood. How some of the things that we used to love lead you back to the memories you had with her. How she inspires you to write those beautiful lyrics and poems.

But why do I even care? Almost four years have passed since we parted ways.

Yes, almost four years—but why am I still wasting a minute or two of my life thinking about this crap? Why am I acting like a highschool student who can’t get over her first love? Why am I acting like you were the one who left me for someone? Why am I being this pathetic?

Why did I even fucking write this blog entry?

Stupid me.

Evanescence

She never believed in magic but she once used that word to describe her feelings when she was writing the tale that ended a tragedy. The story was too enchanting, even the universe fell in love and so it conspired to halt the torment she was experiencing that time.

She was too charmed by the new-found story. She kept herself awake for months to sustain the excitement. Her greatest fear was to put an end to that tale, so she led the words to deeper realms. As she scribbles her thoughts, the twists become more and more intricate. The roads became way too obscure, she found herself lost in the middle of nameless sphere.

Now, I can’t find my way back.

Submission

There are nights when I allow myself to get possessed by this spirit.

But those moments  are not mystical. It is because the experience  something that I often deal with every time I pop a bottle open to drink and drown the sorrow, the frustration, the guilt and even boredom.

And there are times that when that spirit enters my body, it clouds my mind, my heart and my conscience. Yet there are moments that it makes my blood rush like the waters of Piscataqua.

It isn’t numinous but I have to admit there’s something magical about it—it brings me to some of the most interesting places  I’ve never been to.

It takes me to Galapagos. It takes me to the rings of Saturn. It takes me to someone else’s arms.

And right at this moment, I think I am possessed.

And it took me in this realm where I would perhaps choose to stay for good.