I love, therefore, I writhe.

I and despair;
an endless love affair.


My feet stay still but my thoughts run wild. To be in the state of stationary while your mind not; that's art. One of the things to feel lucky about being human. My words are so fond of residing in my mind, they barely peek out of my mouth. It's why I'm always quiet. Fragile minds hold the greatest irony. They wear solitude like a perfume to cover the stench of their catastrophic emptiness; a being that preys on hollowed chests— 


While their sanity are forever chained at the throat.






(by the way, hi Nad.)

HLovate

 "Identifying something unidentified is harder than justifying the E=MC² equation. Emotion falls under that something."

(Found this in the draft. Thought I should post it. So here you go.)

If I could take a picture of my inner being, I would.

Look at her. Look at that blank expression painted across her feature. Look at those eyelids, look how they invariably cover her eyes. Even with her eyes trailing the ground, can you sense that rays of void penetrating through? A trace of something that once had been hers, but now have been taken away, she could never get rid of it, it's forever attached with her. A reminder of her past, that continues to trail her present, a never-ending ache that goes on to discolour her every second she's alive.

If only they knew...

How exquisitely she keeps a straight face while everything inside her collapses, an art of deception she was forced to master. How her feet taps the ground with such slow, serene steps while inside her it's a war. When, between steps, her sight would fall upon those faces, of familiarity and bliss which a twisted path had sent both of them to a dark place where their field of vision are blindfolded with misled perception, and now had made them a stranger to each other. How, as fast as a split second she cuts her eyes away and resume her steps, cogitating and half-hoping to feel any sort of pain to jolt through her hardened exterior, begging for coats of tear to strain down her face, and finally tasting the virulent void...but often her attempt came to a disappointing end.

A few trips to her mind and she finally got the answer. Why she is so numb to all those pain. Why she is incapable of feeling anything. Why it only hurt the first time. It's like experiencing a bruise. Touch it while it's new and it's going to hurt like hell. Repeat it continuously and you'll eventually grown to withstand the pain, and it's not going to hurt you anymore, no matter how many times you try to press against the bruise. That's how she is now. She had gone through it too many times to feel any kind of pain. it's sad, really.

If she could take a picture of her inner being, she would, as there is no other way she could portray what it's really like inside of her. She's unable to cry, no. She's too numb for that. Everything is falling apart, and this is her, surrendering.