Dear Deluded Heart,
Dreams are as fragile as they are sturdy; they will stand for as long as we chase them. The end of a pursuit however, turns dreams into broken dreams. And broken dreams always come back to haunt us.
…That is the nightmare I fear; I dread the turn of the table…
…The slight tip of the scale, between dreams and broken dreams: Where one drives me forward, the other will run me over the edge. Where one Continue reading “Dreams|vs|Broken Dreams”
If Love is Water, then I am a desert, for it is something my lips have never tasted, a thirst that’s never been quenched, a sea I’ve never stepped into.
I’m often asked why I don’t take a plunge into the unknown and dive into the sea of love that awaits before me; the water of wanders, an ocean of life. And here’s why…. Continue reading “Water|as|Love”
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…
Diary of a Deluded Heart