Archive for May, 2012

As Music re-creates Time.

Posted: May 27, 2012 in Uncategorized

There’s a song assigned to every memory; a melody that brings the past back to life. Retrieved and revived. I close my eyes as it plays. I fall back into the midst of remembrance. My playlist shuffles; and so do my memories. Suddenly; I am served my own choice of location, and emotions.

My eyelids seal the darkness that soon fades into an automatic replay of the scenes of my life that flash before me. I press them tighter and tighter; the overflow of memories has just begun. And I don’t want to leave that behind. I want to stay as much as I can where I no longer can be; because the way both the music and the memories are perfectly synced together is so fascinating that it makes my heart ache in a subtle mixture of flamboyant enjoyment and nostalgia. It aches; but I like it.

I breathe. Deeper and harder. As if the expansion of my lungs would sooth the ache my heart feels, as if it could possibly tone down the beats, slowing their pace. So real, it seems. So tangible. Everything so unchanged. A memory; so intact. I can see it come to life at my impaired sight. With both my hearing and sight so involved into synchronizing the former, the remaining senses slowly come in action to beautifully impose into my state of virtual living. And I swear; I could smell the air around me diffuse with the same odors of passion. So real, it becomes. Chills run down my bone. It floats all around me. It smells the same, feels the same, and aches brutally; just as hard. Just as real. Just so tangible.

I have unconsciously re-created a memory. And as long as the song lives, that memory is timeless.

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Mess

Posted: May 11, 2012 in Uncategorized

The canvas stands bare and blank. White; temptingly irritating. She stares, as memories stir up emotions she’s tried to suppress, stirs up an unexplained urge of unleashing her feelings, into something else but words. Words expose too much. Words have failed her. Or, she has rather failed them. Her words ran silent, ran weak; lacking impact. At least to those it was meant to. Feelings, thoughts, and voices of her logic debating her heart build up. Pressure build up. They conflict. They battle so wild and aggressively… In silence.

A rush of cold air stretches her lungs out. Pressure escapes through her hands. She grabs the box she’s always kept close and splits it wide open. The smell of paint fills her with life, with hope, with space. It pierces her lungs, yet she breathes more of the diffusing smells into her. Her lungs stretch wider and wider as her hands slip underneath the scattered tubes of oil paints, dying her skin in colours. Brushes.  She pulls them out. She scatters them next to her as they arrange themselves randomly. She throws the box upside down. The greasy tubes of oil paints roll to place themselves amongst  her army of brushes. She slides her finger into a palette, grips it tightly, and squeezes the first tube she gets her hands on so hardly. The cap flies away, a dark paste flows on the wooden palette. Deep blue. Her favourite. Without even looking at the array of colours that gathered around her, she grabs a few more, and squeezes them even harder and harder with all the pressure growing in her, with all the memories piling up, with all the caged feelings now going wild within, and starts mixing them together into colours she’s making up. The colours are tempting in rage. Wild and bright.

She stares at the same blank canvas. White disgusts her. Makes her feel just as blank. Just as she’s always been. And she takes it all on that. The brushes slip through her fingers as she dips them into the thickening pastes of colours, smudging the white that lays before her.

Her mind blacks out. She can’t even see what she’s brushing her colours into. There’s nothing specific in mind to materialize. Nothing but the same thoughts that has been haunting her since forever. She remembers. The more she does the more her paints come into lines that barely make any sense. And she goes on and on; smudging not only the white cotton sheet in front of her but her skin, her clothes and the floor around her. And she doesn’t bother.

The smell has taken over the entire place by the time she’s come to an end. By the time she’s let her feelings graze wild on a field of battling colours. She’s let it all out. Still, sticking to the silence she’s promised to abide to. Her feelings escaped her. The pressure eased the ache inside. She breathes out the same smell that has filled up her collapsing lungs. She sighs as she restores her senses back. She stares. Her eyes burn. They grow wider trying to enclose every edge of the flying colours. Her heart slows down in rest. Her lips throw a blank smile.

She has materialized the mess within.

Talk

Posted: May 6, 2012 in Uncategorized

Talk. You have every right to.

Talk. You owe it to your feelings and the people around you. They deserve to know. Anything; everything.

I still reminisce.
I still remember.
I still wonder, What if…?

What if you’ve taken that extra mile to do something… anything… To maybe, just talk?  What if you haven’t given up on your words for silence? Silence has its phonetics. It echos, yet in emptiness. Talk; you owe it to yourself before you owe it to others.

Talk, because  I really wished you did. I really wished you went for that extra mile.  Yet you didn’t. You won’t. The words you never said will linger in the complexity of your thoughts; will challenge my reality. Will burst my bubble. I can’t make them up. They weren’t said. Gone. Along with so many other things. Now, I shall abide to believing in what it was; and accepting what it has become.

I’ll keep talking; because between these scattered words, I’ll still fit in with a wish; one that still offers you well of hope, and the happiest of days. I’ll talk, because some words never change.

I will talk, doesn’t matter to who. Doesn’t matter if you’re willing to listen. Streets do. Walls do. Papers do.
It doesn’t matter. It never made me weak, it rather adorns me with the freedom of expression.

I will always talk. Because only then I know I’ve moved on.
I will always talk. I owe it to my existence.

I will talk. I owe it to my friends who helped me to.