Just thoughts

In the end, it is art that would cheer me up. So tell me why, until now I am still not going to be an Art major?

---

I am a dreamer, trap in this world. I am very sorry, my dear self.

----

I hate this body of mine, it is too picky,
a little too hot will annoy it,
a little too cold will shiver it,
can't stuff it with too much favorite food, it will spoil the satisfying feeling,
can't listen to the temporary favorite song on repeat, it will start to detest what it once loved,
can't lie on one side for too long, it will get numb,
can't sleep when it is bright/ noisy,
can't run, exercise,
can't carry heavy things,

incapability.

And I have not even talked about my picky mind.

They are, together, what make my life miserable. - (and precious)

NIGHT

12:12 AM
At this time of the day (or night), a painting just finished,
in the half-sleepy state,

when the media player on the computer played Dearest (Ayumi Hamasaki), Just a Feeling, and Where you at (Tae Yang)


the soul is moody, and the mind resists resting.
What is it the need of a company, dear solitude Scorpio?

I guess I can at least rest my mind, because I accomplished something today:

- the ability to talk to the person who was so hard to talk to,

- and the step-up in watercolor painting.

I need

I need a nice notebook. No, I need the notebook that I had at home - home, in my room, home, Hanoi -
I need to write. Something that neither Blogspot, or my diary can hold.

I need to write about myself, the selves inside me, and the self that has been ever changing. I need to document the truth about myself. And there is only one suitable place - the brown notebook. I wish I could have it with me.

---
I need a physical clasp. The creative side in me has been very prosperous these two days. Multiple sketches: water color, pencil, ink. Photographs. Nail polish.
Yet, all of these beauty is but untouchable.

It feels like pouring water into a bottomless well, no reaction, no change, no existence.

My hands, which is grabbing air, wants something tangible. I need to hold on to someone.

---
Since when? I don't know.
I stop feeling the need of a hug, of a hand grasping, of a loving touch.
What I really need is a touch in the heart. I want someone who can reach my soul, whom I can rest my ever-echoing heart, my restless thought on.

Without that, I am still here, on my own, feeling the wind of life reaching from all direction. No one is there to cover me.
The path of solitude,
one trace of foot print,

hand touching air.

Tomorrow

No no no no more, tomorrow

The clock is frozen.

Time stops its flow.

I'm still exactly the same as then,

The time stopped right at that last moment.

Even the feet are trapped.

I can't move on.

My hand scarred, symbolism of a broken heart.

My arm extending to receive the pain, symbolism of broken will. Even the other hand is hidden. I don't want to fight (for life) any more. If life is a war, and each day is a battle, then I surrender - head bowing low.

If you look closely, the structure of the clock, with the blocks of ice, resembles an eye. Shattered glass is tears.

This - is a drawing of sorrow.

Of course the face is calm. There's no growling, no moaning, no fussing. That is how I express my emotion. Invisible. The idea is based on my real experience. 

Let me just tell the story outright. I hate it when people try to analyze a piece of literature. What if that is NOT the author's intention?

----

The time on the clock, it has a meaning too. It was around that time when I walked into the common lobby and saw him with his girl friend. They were sitting, leaning on each other. No excessive cuddling, but I could tell from a glance. I was shocked I was puzzled. It felt like something slipped out of my hand. It seemed like reality was an illusion. I don't want to think about it, I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to write about it. Yet, I want to scream out loud, I want drain out this dense sadness in my heart. 

I couldn't smile. I couldn't lift up my feeling. I was just halted. Exactly like that. Hope shattered. Future extinct. 

Of course time would pass, and life would through hardship at me again. But there is one future that won't exist any more; and for that future, time stops. The future between me and him.

THE END

Done,
he got a girl friend.

I know I have not fallen for him. But it still itched my heart, as to see them together, with my own eyes.
This piece of heart, that is already fragile.

I  know, he doesn't worth my time being sorrow.

But I am afraid, if I just ignore it [the sadness], my heart will turn into ice.
Oh, it already did.

Walking along the main lobby, seeing him right there, with a girl.

Why have I been so inattentive?

He changed his relationship status, but I did not catch it at all. I know he hid the news feed. 

They were friend on facebook between Feb 13 and Feb 15. I guess they knew each other not long at all. Then, one week after that, what I saw from inside the building was that a girl came and hugged him. She remained in that position forever. I have been too careless. "Just another friend." But obviously not.

She started to post on his wall. Once again, I have been negligent.

They went ice-skating together.

And the next day, what I saw was her leaning on him. Now, with one glance I would see plainly what the truth was.

"I am just dressing up, imma go out with my girl  tonight."

Woowoh. Nice. Indeed. 

Break, if my heart is capable of it.

Bleed, if my soul is capable of it.

Drop, if my tears are capable of it.

Fall, if my body is capable of it.

Fade, if my smile is capable of it.

"Gone, gone, my love is gone."

I do not think of being his girl friend. I don't want any thing. So, why must I feel sad?

Wither, my bud is capable of it.

---------

The music in the pit was loud. It was annoying. I pumped up the volume of my own music player. The only one thing I never want to do. The storm inside pressed on the wall of my body. It wanted to break out, as much as my music want to blow off the noise from outside. I could not do anything. Write about it, talk about it, even think about, were not important. It would still be unchanging truth.

If this was a race, I lost. I could never run fast enough.