Restlessness

Laid back,

Head rested,

Staring,

Into the cream-coloured nothingness that is my bedroom sky.

Thoughts hover,

Dreams linger,

Waiting,

Like limber limbs aching for a stretch, a stride, a streak

Hoping to break free from the arduous asphyxiation of ignorant monotony

Struggling helplessly to overcome the strangling hand of bleak,

Failure.

Eyes open,

Mouth gasps,

Trying.

But nothing.

Nothing gets through.

The civil war between mind and body has cost another day.

And the victor of this inaction can only be the nation of procrastination.

Wordlessly reaping the fruits of their squabbles.

Mocking.

Thoughts cry.

Dreams whimper.

The cream-coloured bedroom sky grows darker to match the shade of its neighbours outside.

Drooping.

Head turns.

Hitting the sack.

Maybe tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I will fight the restlessness back.

Lost

I write this now because I'm lost. Or stressed. I don't know anymore. All I see is that face. The face that haunts me from the past and will not stop coming back in whispers and shadows. Its been a year. A full year that I have not set my eyes upon those windows to the soul. The soul that sometimes I felt was fated to mine. The bond that was made in the stars but the stars sneezed and missed a seam, causing it to be less than perfect, less than mated, just... less.

I could not for the life of me understand what the stars did. Nor do I care. I think. There will always be more. Always be more to touch, more to experience, more to look forward to after each and each shadow and each whisper, you know, more.

You see the thing is I don't want more, I don't want less. I want enough. Not the kind that is not good enough, or the kind that is being there long enough. Enough is enough. Words that are not too long, short. Thoughts that are not overtly explicit in its dimensional paradigm but simple and concise. Emotions that mean what you say without actually having to say what you mean. You know what I mean? Short+sweet. =/ Mean.

I feel myself edging towards the rabbit hole. Lingering over its grim edges. Ready to fall. I mean, I've been there before. It can't be that bad to go back there again. It's safer there. No emotions. No people. Just me. Protecting me. I don't have to be anyone else but me. And being me is the fault of the stars. Being me is not short+sweet or anything in between. It means nothing. I am nothing. Because the hole is nothing. And nothing feels good now. I am good. Just fine.