Dance with me.

Tonight, We are young…

Can we slow dance again? Just one more time.
It’ll be enough to last me a lifetime.
We’ll do the waltz to pop music,
And laugh at our weird momentum
and misguided steps.
I’ll be close to you again,
Hearing your heartbeat.
Feeling alive, feeling seen, feeling valid.
Then I’ll breathe you in and hold my breath forever after.

Because I’ll feel you slip away from my fingers again.
It’ll be because I held on too tight.
Every dance has to end, right?


I was challenged to write while listening to triggering music.
I listened to it 6 times before i was able to stop chewing on my fingers and type.
Remembering, thinking, going “why am i doing this again” and “what am i getting out of this again?”
Some truth, maybe.
She was always playing this song for us. I stepped on her foot once while trying to waltz to this. I dont know why i remember this so distinctly. I guess I fell too hard.

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try to live

i can’t breathe.
It feels like you’re the hand holding my head underwater.
Why aren’t you letting me breathe?
i have tried, so hard, to play the role i never signed up for.
i never knew it included being dragged
deeper underwater with only the oxygen in my lungs to exist.
Swim deeper. Live. 


Hand We always hear about children disappointing their parents. But what about when parents disappoint their children?  My parents should have started the brainwashing earlier if they wanted a perfect, religious daughter. Conform, they said.

Now I see my near future years living in caution. I think its sad when you’ve caused your child to fear you. I think its sad when you’ve caused your child to believe that the only way she’ll start living is when she has enough to get away.

Mirror of Erised

She peaked from behind the heavy door, studying the large artefact that loomed in the dark corner of the room. Slowly, she crept up to it, picking her nails as her heart started racing. She shouldn’t be here. But I need to see. She wanted so badly to know what her heart desired.  She wanted so badly to know what it would take to make her happy.

She’s heard of many stories of the grand mirror before her. The Mirror of Erised only shows a person’s deepest and most desperate longings. She thought that if she knew what would make her happiest, she could finally run away from the sadness that only seemed to engulf her. She tiptoed towards the reflective surface and held her breath.

Nothing.

Her eyes searched frantically around the perimeters of the great mirror. Wha-? Did it stop working? She searched the mirror, feeling the sides as if looking for an on-switch. It is said that only the happiest person in the world would only just see themselves. Magical artefacts dont just stop working!

She stared back at her reflection, switching from eye to eye. Not even the Mirror of Erised knew what was inside her heart. Nobody knew. Nothing knew. Not even her. Maybe happiness was never meant for her. Maybe she didn’t have the capacity to hold such an emotion. Maybe there is no happily ever after.  Maybe, well of course – her heart was empty. She was never going to be happy.

She started to feel the tears building up in her eyes and the heat radiating from her face. All she wanted was to smile without the fear of being truthfully seen. Why cant she be happy? Slowly, she placed her hand on the shiny surface and felt her knees sink to the ground. Couldn’t she just hold on to a little bit of happiness? Maybe if she placed her hand there, she could steal the joy from every previous person just to make up for her own sorrows.  She banged the mirror with a clenched fist.

Crack. She looked up, frightened to have broken the school’s prized possession. What she saw however, was enough to soften her swollen eyes. You’re finally here.

Kneeling beside her was the only person she ever loved. With her eyes fixed to the mirror, she saw her tears being wiped away with the back of her hand. She reached towards her own face, trying to hold on to her fondest memory only to feel the grasp of emptiness. You’re.. not here. She closed her eyes, almost remembering what her touch felt like. But when she reopened her eyes she was gone.


dumbledores office“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live” – Dumbledore

The moral to this story is that you can be happy with yourself. What she was supposed to see was the happiness of letting go – the lack of Her. Thats why she didnt see anything. The mirror knew that letting go will eventually lead her to her happiness.

At least, that is what im telling myself.

Heres a picture from my trip to HarryPotter World in the UK.

Un-number-ing

I’ve started deleting the numbers.
Days don’t reach infinity like numbers do.
Itll be a lie to number them and pretend
that reaching 365 would mean that I had lived.

Our days are already numbered.
Don’t you feel the numbness?


calendarMaybe with less numbering and numbing, ill be less numb too.
Happier, maybe.

Soo, the format of my wordpress has noticeably changed to suit my soul’s needs and my heart’s desire.

(Un)finished poetry #1

ive placed a flower in a soda bottle on my study table –
Enclosed in glass that promises
to contain and protect what’s left of a life.

Though i think we’re only killing it faster.
Is this what they mean when they say death is beautiful?
Don’t they see themselves choking at the neck of the bottle?


flowerbottle

Im making this a habit – having a flower on my table. It reminds me to nurse the irony, to take note of fragility, to take note of the struggle in hiding that fragility.

The flower is dying but it still blooms.