thoughts of the past inadvertently find their way into my bouts of reflection; they’re a potent cocktail of yearning and regret. i don’t think there’s an English word for it — i haven’t found its foreign, untranslatable variant. it’s a feeling of watching life passing gently, like running your palm through the beach and watching the sand slip through your fingers. you can hold on as much and as tightly as you want, but it makes no difference. the pigeons will continue to caw, the trees sway in the wind, and the sea will recede, before rushing forward, only to recede again.
Category: personal
forgetting, #3 (deconstructed)
if to reminisce is to reconstruct, i can’t see you in the pieces anymore
excerpts, #12
for all that life has given me — if it gave me any more, would i hate myself any less?
dissension
just because i can / doesn’t mean i should
///////////////////////////(doesn’t mean i care)
on friendships
the fair-weather friendships are not real — they do not tell you everything: a barrier separates you and them. whether they don’t think you’re worthy enough to let in or because they don’t think others will accept them for who they truly are — the barrier is insurmountable by design.
the friendships that are real — there’s a trust that lingers. disclosure, reciprocity, the search for them first in a crowd, what makes a relationship last — over and over.
so it is, so it shall be; i accept all of it
building/breaking
i made a nest of sticks:
it was held together by the dream
thought it was pretty, and
it was; i saw you were beaming
cradled it between my palms —
like i would have had you, maybe —
and crushed it
(what i can build, i can also
break)
forgetting, #2
終於忘記你的時候你出現在我的夢裡
我們都困在這寂寞的夜晚
陽光照進窗簾卻太過刺眼
過於溫暖的冬天讓人失去自覺
波浪在海面上 營火在岸邊
我又淚流滿面而你不在我身邊
芒草在山巔，痛苦還留在眉間
他天真地以為這一切都無所謂
他單純只想把日子過得不浪費
我就是你的人
而這就是我的人生
深夜的時光如此珍貴，安靜的故事裡沒有音樂
終於忘記你的時候你出現在我的夢裡
becoming, #4
whatever slips by me now,
i let go with grace;
in time, when i have become,
everything that was meant to be
shall return to me
excerpts, #11
what we had was not poetry — it is, because i wrote it so
take care of yourself, my love
somnolence, #3
sometimes, on the verge of oblivion, he kisses my forehead absentmindedly, whispering i love you. and then he falls back asleep with one hand clasping my arm; he does not wait for my answer.
somehow… i think that’s what love is meant to be.
baby g’s diary 