My new sounds:
Pain and loss still doesn’t give you the permission to inflict it.
My new sounds:
He was a good listener. Sometimes, that was the problem. He could hear her voice echo at the back of his head, “It’s okay to open up sometimes, Lance. People make sense of each other because of common weaknesses.” She was right, but he couldn’t quite grasp the right words to mirror his truths. In the thick haze, he was walking on pavements he couldn’t see, solely relying to the echoing of his foot steps on what seemed to be a wall-less room, stretched for miles. “Don’t let the shadows inside you crowd what’s still good on this side of the clouds.” He stood in the middle of the living room, his gaze directed nowhere. His cat slowly rubbed itself on its feet, its tail slithering between his ankles. He took a deep breath. “You know, it’s okay. You can try again tomorrow.” Her voice was soothing. He wished to see her again. But that was impossible. Even in this subtle chaos, he found clarity from her voice alone. As his cat gave up trying to get his attention, he laid on his couch and closed his eyes. Yes, he whispered to himself, tomorrow. I’ll try again tomorrow.
My new sounds:
The night is the best time to be honest. It gives me the illusion that this is the moment when the world closes its eyes.
Writing makes me remember and forget. You’re my in-between. And the in-betweens are always the hardest.
My new sounds:
from the hollow pits
on your collarbones
overflowed my dreams,
secrets I only told you
they stream downward
from body to your toes
wash your hair tonight
I’ve whispered too much
like a deer in a meadow
it combs the earth
that it never owned,
the moon recognizes us
but my thoughts cloud
the fiction and the voices
you’re gone by tomorrow
let me weep like my pen
until sleep collects me
Yum of Steel. (lol)
Video’d on my Vine account.
Pacific Rim sketch.
Video’d on my Vine account.
I was listening closely to the way the leaves grazed the concrete. Somehow it made a lot of sense to you, while it was merely mundane noise for me. You said you liked sitting outside your porch and paying close attention to the sounds that people usually ignored. Like the sound the grass made after being stepped on, the way it gradually points towards the sun again. Or the flickering of the lamp post, as if a handful of moths were electrocuted in lieu of reciprocating their awe of its luminosity. I’ll never be as close as how I was before, to the things that you loved and breathed. I’d like to keep my distance, even if I tilt my head a bit now and then towards the traces of you that exists everywhere. The air around me would always have slivers of you. But even if that never ceases, I’d eventually forget about it. In distraction and destruction, I know that a piece of your celeste-dipped energy still dwells inside me. Within the rib-cages of the heart you never gave back, I’ll continue to pretend that I don’t think beautifully about you anymore.
Once I met a blind girl. At first, I didn’t know that she was. I always saw her at the lobby every 5pm on weekdays. She was escorted by a body guard and greeted by a man that may be her father. Her father worked at this building too. I’m guessing he was a CEO or someone just a tad bit lower than that.
For a blind woman, she really didn’t seem like it. Krissandra was her name, but she wanted to be addressed as Sandy at all times. I asked her if it had anything to do with the Sand Man or the shore of the beach. She said no. She told me that she got into a car accident when she was 7. If her dog Sandy hadn’t jumped on to her side, the colliding car would have pinned her instead. The damage might have been worse apart from losing her sight. Since then, she took on the name Sandy, after her late dog.
“I hate my first name. It feels as if it belonged to a distant relative of the Queen of England. Or perhaps a nagging grocer-woman at the corner of the street who always spat at children who cried.”
I laughed. At first, she wouldn’t talk to me. We were both seated in the couch at the lobby. I was supposed to meet a colleague of mine but he was late. To kill time, I tried reading a book. But my attention eventually wavered to Sandy. Her body guard made sure that his presence was imminent, but he was decent enough to not say a harsh word my way. From the looks of his gray hair yet built physique, he must have been protecting Krissandra since she was a child. Sandy probably felt the tension between us. The way she placed her hand upon his had a daughter-like energy to it. She patted his hand as if to say, “It’s alright”. Instantly, the bodyguard’s face calmed down and with a quick look at me, he turned his back and hadn’t moved since.
I smiled at the bodyguard, even if it was his back that faced me. I wish Sandy could see that. Maybe she would have appreciated a joke or two about it.
Krissandra was apparently not waiting for her father, but her uncle. He took care of every business the family had while her mother was abroad, dealing with her share of foreign clients.
“It’s a mining business. But mother insisted on expanding. It also concerned something else that had carpets in the picture. I have nothing to do with this. Well as you can see, I can’t. Haha! Pun, get it?” Her stare remained rigid but her smile felt like it was directed my way. I chuckled as a response to her statement without necessarily indicating any hint of mockery.
A smile broke from my lips to my cheeks. I wish she could have seen it. Maybe she would have compared me to Joker or the Mad Hatter. People say I’ve a weird smile.
I asked her why she always waited for her uncle.
“We’d go for ice-cream, uncle and I. Sometimes, he’d take me to this beautiful library and read me stories. I know what you’re thinking. A 24-year-old blind woman being read to by her uncle. Of course, the old man is tired from work yet he chooses to baby-sit for me? Well, I’d much rather have that than him gallivanting in bars. Uncle Kean and I have been the best for friends since I was younger. I prefer to keep it that way instead of him making ties with beer bottles and strange women.” She clicked her tongue, crossed her arms in front of her and smiled arrogantly. Seconds later, she laughed and waved a hand. “Pardon me for talking so much. I haven’t exactly spoken to anyone outside the family and Smith here,” gesturing towards her bodyguard, “Somehow, Smith’s absence of growling suggests that you aren’t a creep.”
She then turned her head towards my direction. I got startled for a while. Can she see me?
“So?” she said, looking at me as if she really could. “I know you’re waiting for someone, the book you got with you is boring and that my frequent attendance at the lobby intrigued you. But let me ask the questions for now. What’s your name?”
Her stare went back to what was in front of her. I wondered. Was it all darkness that she could see? Or a great, big blur of white?
“My name’s Jared,” I said. “I work as an IT person for a fashion company. Fixing computers and programs are what I do everyday. But to kill time, I like to go on chess tournaments. Which is why I’m here actually. My colleague was supposed to pick me up. But from the looks of it, the tournament’s probably done by now.”
“Oh, I’m sorry about that.” A calm wave of upset rushed through Sandy’s expression. There was a bit of her smile left on the corner of her lips. I wanted to save it.
“No, no,” I immediately said. “I’m actually glad I missed it.”
Her face lightened up, a soft glow of pink appearing on both side of her cheeks. I wonder if Sandy knew how beautiful she was. I wish I could lend her my sight, at least for just this moment.
Smith cleared his throat. I guess he caught me staring at Sandy. I bit my lip and made an awkward smile. He wasn’t pleased.
“Anyway, I…” Sandy said. Before she could finish her sentence, her uncle exited the elevator and was walking towards where we sat. Sandy knew the pace her uncle Kean walked in and how many steps it took for him to wrap his arms around her and lift her off the ground a bit.
“Uncle!” she said shyly, “Put me down!” Mr. Kean sensed my presence.
“This a friend?” he asked. Sandy nodded. I blushed a little on the inside. I was her friend. Her friend. A friend of hers. It felt nice.
“I’ve got good news darling!” Mr. Kean’s voice suddenly filled the lobby. “Your mom has convinced the foreign clients to stick with us and… Well, I’ll leave all the boring details aside. You’re moving to Paris next week! Hasn’t it always been your dream!”
I saw Sandy’s eyes widened and she hugged her uncle tightly. She was giggling for the next few minutes. Smith was overjoyed, seeing the doll he took care of all these years jumpy and filled with sheer excitement. The three of them were then engaged in a conversation until they walked out of the lobby and left the building. I sat in my seat, wondering if I should have said something or excused myself. From the looks of it, they were too preoccupied and I was already happy to see Sandy smile the way she did.
The echoing of her laughter still rang in my ears, even if the their vehicle had long drove off. This shouldn’t have meant anything to me. After all, she was just a stranger with her stories. But I wish I could have asked to see her again before she went to Paris.
It was too soon to say but our encountering meant something. It felt different. She was different. I wish I could see her, just her and nobody else. But she can’t see me either. I guess we’re both even.
I was away from sleep
Like a paper boat on concrete
Standing atop the lights
The wind sift through the blight
Their cares resembled mine;
Flimsy, almost lesser a dime
There is a shy beauty -
Remain the way you are
Did you speak of a page
Torn from a familiar book?
Stay away from the clangor
Of this perfidious story
I bury my head
In the light of this lamp post
Quelling the flames
That sweltered the wings of hope
Swimming in dream and sea
I stifle at the woe in my throat
Like a moonshine veiled in clouds
I’ll preserve its memory
~ artreture | onemeanderinglion
You weren’t a broken boy,
But there was something broken
With the way your shoes
Grazed the pavements
I want you around
Even as I say this
Through gritted teeth
And bleeding lips
Both our knees are scathed
From looting antique stores
And fruits from the grocer;
I was weak too, but not a thief
One of us wanted adventure
While the other opted for shelter
Your mind was set, so was mine;
We broke in into a library instead