I’m a little, actually, very,

tired of talking to people right now. just tired. 

I’m taking some time off and holing up for a bit. I’ve reached a point in my life where I realized that time and energy is too valuable to spend on choices you didn’t want to make or grudgingly made (key word, choices). I’m just tired.

Advertisements

hermit crab

I’ve gone and folded into myself, folded waves over waves until I found myself deep sea. It’s a bit dark. I’m a bit lost, a bit listless, a bit lonely, but still searching. I’m okay with this. Searching.

I’ve lost my desperate need to appeal to others, pulled off old trinkets, cleaned. It’s a lot lighter now, but so much lighter that I’m not used to this weightlessness, so much more vulnerable. I’ve thrown away the shiny bits, the excess, so much that I started drifting upwards. But confusion and a sense of emptiness has settled in place.

Because I need to rebuild those bits of me I had constructed for others, find new meaning in the colors and patterns of my shell. For me. 

So I’m retreating a bit. A tired me, 

but

 a little more okay me.

there’s a city waiting out there for me;

it’s so familiar.

A city that I’ve been dreaming of. One of gently blinking lights, beckoning. A blue-washed city of memory.

Even when I’m awake, I find myself caught in a wave of nostalgia, of longing, my mind flits to the ever-flickering city. It tugs at me, telling me to remember, to find it. I feel as though I’ve lost something important to me.

Where are you? Why is it that I can’t pull myself away from you? I can’t remember you, I’ve much less never seen you, but you are so dear to me; you are a place of memories yet to be made, memories yet to be found.

I’m still searching for you.

Please wait for me, we’ll meet again soon.

 

but it has to be genuine

that recklessness, confidence, and strength.

being kind to be kind, taking action for the sake of taking action. no matter about images. no use keeping up appearances because appearances aren’t timeless. 

if you don’t like a person, there’s no use trying to force yourself to like them or make them like you–false pity means nothing too. thank them for their time, move on, if you have something to say, don’t speak ill when they’re not around, either keep it to yourself or if you absolutely must, tell it to them. do something. say something. stop licking your wounds in all your bitterness and cursing your misfortune, say something or move on. “constructive criticism” isn’t constructive unless it’s said to them; besides, you’ve no place to be speaking ill of others anyways when you still are searching for your own place in life, who are you to think you are better than them? focus on yourself first. (note that if you do choose to speak, choose your words in earnest, don’t speak to hurt–speaking louder, more sharply doesn’t mean more effective. it’s like stabbing somebody for stabbing you so you’ve ended up going and making yourself the villain as well)

don’t feel entitled just because you did something for another person without their asking or against your will, give help because you want to. 

if somebody hurts you, tell them so. if they push the blame on you, once that happens, there’s no reasoning with them (no matter how hurt you may feel or how many times you cry, it won’t change how they feel, rather only encourage their stubbornness). and you don’t need them. don’t feel guilty when you cut them off, don’t miss their familiarity– you’ve become familiar with toxin and began to see it as an antidote.

never hurt others. 

you. focus on yourself, speak honestly, be direct, if you must act recklessly, do so in earnest, don’t make excuses, learn to say good-bye, stop regretting. 

be kind to yourself.

/

notes.

(linguistic diarrhea) 

it all boils down to 

choices.

I’m indecisive and easily excited. Throw choices at me until they keep piling on, I’ll dally. I know I’m awfully lucky to have all these choices. And yet. Even if I’m happy where I am, it only seems to be for just a moment. Because somehow, somewhere, something will come along, more exciting, more dazzling, more ideal. My attentions are here one day, gone the next, frenzied in my own self-centeredness. Impatient for “better.” Ego.

So I make the choices wait, place the decisions I’ve already made on tentative, tread water to only quickly step back. And while I’m stuck in the same pattern, I lose choices, gain more– but venture nothing. All to chase “ideal.”

But if my ideals are constantly changing, if I’m constantly wavering, if I’m stagnant,

then it’s only obvious that it’s not that I’m waiting for better– this is only an excuse, really– but

I’m too scared to make the wrong decision. 

Kick the air in bitterness, curse daylight for leaving, stare into the nights. But do nothing.

So there I go again, treading water, not noticing that the water around me has started to

evaporate.

Grounded in the least grounded way.

Just some contemplation really, not feeling particularly down, just reflective (for the sake of properly analyzing faults for myself to correct, you see).

you see, 

daisies only open during the daytime. but I do believe night time is when the world is most beautiful, the most pure.

speaking of daisies, I’ve since rewritten the meaning of daisy and I’ve since burnt the dead. 

you see, it’s a form of secret love, purity, and well

new beginnings.

I burnt them a long time ago.

I’m a skeptic at heart, you see, but at the same time I do like keeping pure bits like flowers or sky, pure.

like the melting clocks but this time you see the people melting

Today’s one of those days where I feel terribly scared. I don’t know how I can win more time. I’ve always been half decent at talking my way out of things, but I can’t talk my way out of this one. Don’t know how I can do that to make them any healthier, to lessen the lines of age, to stop the trembling. 

I’m scared of time passing. 

But I can only milk what I can of this time given, in all this uncertainty. I’ve taught myself to forget numbers and time when I’m with them. In the times I catch myself putting a bright screen between me and them, I feel my own heart breaking for being a selfish grandchild, for wasting the time I’ve been given; a warm question is met with an empty, distracted reply. Grandpa watched me play a silly little phone game the other day, asked me if he could play it on his phone too. Looking to find a point of relatability, of connection with his grandchild. I need to listen, I need to be present. All those stories, the scolding, the questions, I’ve been taking them for granted so long.

I’m so scared. I’m scared of things slipping away. I’m scared of moving forward, of wishing for days to come, because I know that with time moves everybody else.

So I continue hold onto their sleeves.

A little girl and her grandparents, wearing seams of memory, love, and time.