The Great + The Flawed = The Truth

“Only once have I been made mute. It was when a man asked me, “Who are you?”
– Kahlil Gibran, – ‘Sand and Foam’ –

To be asked to tell you of myself, my response would be silence. This silence tells of a moment’s contemplation; a brief hesitation… Which version is it that I am selling you? For I have a choice of three approaches: one voices only the great parts of my story, whilst the other confesses the flawed and undesired elements. Only when paired together, does the truth truly reveal itself as the third and final “whole”…

The Power of Perspective

Life – like clockwork – keeps on going. But time is also the gift that brings peace of mind by healing pain from old wounds, and strengthening eyes to bring forth perspective.

Often, mistakes are the fall that helps us dodge the bullet, but we are too busy tending the scrapes on our knees to notice the chaos we escaped.

Dear Spielberg’s “The Big Friendly Giant”

“THE BFG” movie,

These words are my own, from my heart flow: I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…

Ok so they aren’t my words exactly, but Natasha Bedingfield’s song served as a suitable (albeit random) surrogate…
Because I love you, you friendly sir.

So, what to say…? Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?— No no, let’s deviate from Shakespeare. Thou shall not possess my pen! – Be gone with you *exit scene*

Cupid’s Chokehold

Cupid shot me with his musical, note-shaped arrow.
With a tip spiked in song, the direct shot pierced my heart, filling my body with a sweet symphony that ceaselessly sings to me everywhere I go.

But this special arrow came with a bitter sorrow; a slow releasing poison tainting the bloodstream from which it feeds on.

Fire|as|Love

A fire that burns one thing, gives light to another. It saves life and it takes it.

For this instance, let Love be this relative fire…

Careless Lover|| The fire of love haunts me; because I crave the same flame that sets me alight.

1|| My fire turns me into a moth to the flame – one that’s hypnotic and alluring… as enticing as it is teasing… inviting yet deceiving. It attracts and then attacks. The magnetising lure of the light flickering in the dark, on and off and on and off. Yet I am the moth, my lovers the flame. I’m ready to burn over and over again.

Love is my thrill; a sadistic, merciless obsession with the glowing sparks that is as beautiful as it is dangerous.

Cautious Lover|| The fire of love haunts me; because I know that soon it will become me.

2|| My fire is steady and sturdy. Roaring ablaze… luring light… howling heat… and it is crackling my name. Though this inferno is teasing me from afar, I choose the cold, dark, lonely shadow as my dwelling. As I stare from a distance with caution, this is a fire I fear, not from its threatening pain or torment… but because my body – drenched in fuel – is ready to be consumed whole. One small step towards the light and my fire will set me aflame forever, never to be extinguished. And how can I escape what I become..? A body eclipsed by the all mighty fire of love, a fire I know I will one day come to be.

Love is my curse. One touch and I become fated to the fall with no return – a trip either graced by the light of the white or doomed to the dark of the black; either way, with me there never is the truce of an equidistant grey.

Dear Larissa: Night Vision

Dearest Larissa,

Imagine for one moment, it was all genuine. The words, the smiles, the look, the touch, it all meant something. And when he swept you away it was intentional, with aim. You were sought after, you were looked after. It all meant something.

Just imagine for one moment, it was all real. And you weren’t crazy. And it mattered.

Because whether you’ve lost something that was real, or holding onto something that wasn’t, it was a flame that’s now lost to the dark – but it’s as present as the stars in the sky, the one you always find yourself looking up for. Has the darkness consumed it or does it light up the night? Will your star be a dead fire from the past or a flickering light in the distance? Will you resent its absence or appreciate its existence?

Whichever way you choose to see it, just choose to see it… for if anything, he illuminated your path if for a moment of time. To deny it in any which way – for better or worse – that’s the real loss. You traded in your time for a memory, it’s your duty to make it a good one. Because nothing changes the past other than your perception of it.

Time|vs|Infinity

Tonight I switched on my night-lights hoping to drift away, but staring at my lights, with those particular words – “INFINITE” – staring back at me, it took me away to someplace different…

It got me thinking about several concepts; the perception of age, the balance of living in an idealistic idealism vs. living in the actual reality, paired with the idea of the finite time vs. being “infinite” – And so began my journey into merging these theories and creating a quixotic concoction of sorts.

And here’s what it came down to:

We are all born with a time limit; a conjoined, invisible hourglass attached to us. It is Time that has essentially created ageism; it dictates to us the phases of our life and as such, the order and outcome of it, thus adopting a co-master to our own fate. Despite this, time affects our exterior physical selves but is void in our interior spiritual selves; our bodies age but our mind is ageless, for time does not exist there. When we delve into our mind – in our purely cognitive state – there is no time; it’s a standstill and a source to infinity.

This cognitive state never dictates to us our age; it never tells us we’re only 5, we’re finally 16 or nearly 30… our cerebral self knows that age is a number and not a checkpoint, however our surroundings tell us to think that way. Actually, our mind journeys outside the spell of time and is simply present in the moment that we exist in, where our thoughts are valid and final, irrespective of the decree of age. Whether time dictates that we are ‘young‘ or ‘old’, cognitively, we just are. We are shielded from the effects of time, so we are shielded from the prescription of age. In our own space, we control our own time, and we become infinite as a result.

Dear Somebody

Growing up I always wanted to write a story for lack of my own.

But my affinity with letters took my creative writing on a different journey; I began writing to people and things and addressing songs and movies. By way of that, I found my muse in words unspoken, and addressed my love for letters as just that: words unspoken.

From a reflective point of ponder to a curious case of questioning, my letters all carry a trail of “Perhaps” – exploring possibilities, uncertainties and suggestions – It’s a form of grey area where nothing is too definite in this form of confessional expression. But starting with such ambiguity leads to a trail of unanswered unknowns; words sent out with nothing to ricochet off. It is a trail I pursue with no result.

For far too long I’ve been letting letters lay; unknown, unopened, unconnected and to no effect, collecting dust like an archaic mosaic. My “Dear Nobody’s” and “Dear Somebody’s” begin and ends with “Dear Yours Sincerely” – But somewhere between the silence I’ve killed the purpose of my pursuit of perhaps; so now I’m turning what was once rhetorical into something more oratorical.

So perhaps it’s about time for my wonders and curiosities to wander from darkness into luminosities; to seek to serve my letters justice by posing my words outwardly, released from my own captivity. Perhaps my stagnant words will search its addressee and find its home. Perhaps I’ll find my answers, perhaps I won’t. – Perhaps’ are a-plenty; It’s time to seize the unspoken and free my anchored blues and frivolous musings.

Looking back, I think I knew that this was always an inevitable matter of time, to finally release what I always considered, just a matter of mine…

∞ T
Diary of a Deluded Heart