Life Is Serious

I thought life was only consisted of bunch of jokes. Something I thought I could always laugh at
I was wrong. Life is serious, so serious in which it has arrived to the point where producing tears is a piece of cake
It's more serious than my imaginations and fantasies. I gotta stop being delusional
Passing birthdays helps me to feel how serious life is. But, since when life manages to be this serious?
Come on life why are you so serious? I thought you were all fun, you were all games
I was wrong. The problems it offers even more serious than math
I thought things in life just flow. Like water
I thought it was simple. Like rolling a dice and taking whatever comes to my way
Are you kidding me? A dice has 6 sides and 21 eyes
How many possibilities do I have to pass by taking whatever comes to my way? I ain't good at counting
Life, you are too serious. I thought my life was mine
I could make my own rules on my own life. Since you are completely serious, you provide so many rulers for mine
I am enraptured by its seriousness. It's beyond my control, my power, and my comprehension
I thought life was easy. Yeah it's so easy, too easy till I could hardly understand any single things of it
I thought life was not a big deal. Now, I'm clueless to find answers how to deal with it
In conclusion, life is serious. Screw my thoughts

Her Wonderwall

Seconds
Minutes
Hours
Days
Weeks
Months
Years
That person loves to stay in her mind
Leaving permanent stains
Printing unending trails
Producing everlasting memories
Damn him! He must purposely do these things to her
Without any aims to take all responsibilities for what he has caused to her
Neither, she doesn't want to erase the marks he has delineated
She always digs her heart to give spaces for his images to live
She still provides chambers to gather his pieces she can't replace
She invariably lets a big tide of his reflections flood her head making the string of her heart swell
Her world is full of him leading her brain to stop working
She is completely a fool if it's about him
She is blinded by his charm
She is turned to be deaf by his voice
She is paralyzed by his words
He is an experienced muti-tasker
He is so good at doing two opposite things
Making her fascinated yet making her disappointed
Driving her happy yet driving her sad
Bringing her rainbows yet bringing her fogs
Giving her pleasures yet giving her pains
Causing her love him yet causing her hate him
She never blames him, always permitting him to do those things
All permissions are his
Yeah he has a license to access her heart even to its core as free as he wants
After all, he is her wonderwall
She can't ever get enough of him
He remains there, both in her heart and her mind
Not physically, that person stays.

The Arts of Denials

He stared at her like he loved her

He smiled at her like he loved her

He texted her like he loved her

He talked to her like he loved her

He sent her a flower like he loved her

He cooked and prepared her a lunchbox like he loved her

He wrote her sweet words like he loved her

He blew her good-mornings to encourage her to start the day like he loved her

He whispered her good-nights before she went sleeping like he loved her

He asked her if she was cold and offered her his hoodie like he loved her

He intertwined his fingers with hers like he loved her

He brushed the top of her hand like he loved her

He held her hand when they were walking side by side like he loved her

All lovely things he did like he loved her

He always did those things in the dark night. Maybe he didn't like the rays of sunlight or shadows of him and her under the dim moonlight are fancier. He wanted none but them to know what was happening between them. He didn't want him and her to be exposed by the world. He was blindfolded by his own point of views. It was only between him and her, none needed to know, none needed to butt in.

She liked that. She liked secret actions happened between them. She loved the darkness since she could see unknown feelings right in them. She was only able to guess what was in his heart through his gentle acts that he did like he loved her, never sure if she was right. She didn't mind, she loved uncertainties so much. She didn't need any explanations from him as long as they could be always together with no lights, she was more than happy. Darkness was her beatitude.

They liked it that way. Their minds were in an enchanting oblivion. They were in another world, the place where they belonged. The silent place with no one living there other than them. They were trapped in wonderful solitude. They didn't want others to get near to them since those other people could harm their untitled relationship. Too many fingers in a pie would make the pie tasted bad, that was echoing in their heads. They didn't have any intentions to title their narration because they were so sure if they did so, things between them would be so complicated. Yeah, an untitled story with no one knew anything about it was a complete bliss. 

They were damned. Damned since they didn't know what each other felt. They were too scared to figure out the things within them. They were locked in a wrong ease. They were linked with an unclear grey tie. They didn't dare to color it with a brighter color to make it clearer. They thought it was enough. They had a relationship of some sort that they didn't know what it was. They felt comfort with each other's presence under the blackness.

The saddest thing about them was he knew he loved her from the tip of her hair to the end of her toe fingernails but he didn't want to admit it even to his own self. So did she, she knew she loved each atom, particle, molecule and micro thing of him but she didn't want to admit it even to her own self. In the end, she didn't know he loved her so she kept thinking that he acted like he loved her. Vice versa, he didn't know she loved him so he kept defining her smile that she formed like she loved him. They kept denying the knocks in their hearts. Ink it all out on a piece of paper in their souls. They lied. These were their arts of denials that gave them a sense of elation, temporarily.

Ego

Screams, fights, physical combats, chaotic conditions
They call themselves as husband and wife
They call themselves as father and son
They call themselves as mother and daughter
They call themselves as brothers
They call themselves as sisters
They call themselves as siblings
They are tied with blood, with love, with a wonderful sign called 'family'
But why do they always think of their own selves?
Why do they ignore others' needs?
Why do they always want their own feelings to be attended but do not want to do the vice versa?
Why must they scream to be heard?
Why can't they listen one another?
Can't they sit comfortably, be calm, and discuss their problems maturely?
They are adults but they are more childish than children
Why must they show their awful acts in front of the children?
Do they want their children to grow up as temperamental persons like they are?
Don't they know the effects of traumatic experiences?
They only care about their 'Is' and 'SELVEs' hyperbolically
They can't control their egos, prides, and self-esteems
Those things will smother them slowly
..hurt their loved ones
..destruct their life
..and kill them eventually
Can't they think?

Asphyxiated

I live in a small box
Above me is a square
In front of me is a square
Behind me is a square
Below me is a square
On my left is a square
On my right is a square
Can't I get any other shape than squares?

I'm not the only one living in that small box
There are many other people facing the same situation like I do
The box is so narrow, stuffy, and crowded
I don't know what others think and feel, they seem comfort living here
In contrast with my condition, I'm dying
I'm living but hardly breathing
I'm still breathing but barely living
I am asphyxiated









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My Relaxant

What is the definition of writing in your opinion? Is it only writing sentences on a piece of paper using pencils, pens, etc? Or by following the development of technology, is it to dance your fingers on the keyboard or tab or pad, etc to produce sentences? Do the sentences we create through writing have to be meaningful? Or writing is just writing? By just writing I mean we don't need to write to impress others. We write because we want to express, we write with no specific intentions. If our writings can inspire others, it's just a bonus.

To me, writing is a very important medium to express my thoughts, opinions, feelings, and emotions. I think my brain doesn't have enough capacities anymore to accommodate my thoughts and opinions. Moreover, my heart already waved a white flag indicating it can't contain my feelings and emotions any damn more. Yeah, writing is the only best medium left for me to talk to myself since my brain and my heart are more than exhausted to listen to me.

Through writing I can communicate with my own self that helps me to recognize and understand myself more. I can know what I need and I don't through writing. I can know what I like and I don't through writing. I can know my position towards problems happened in my surroundings and in society through writing. I can know my strengths and my weaknesses through writing. I can measure my maturity through writing. Through writing I can evaluate and judge myself.

The most significant value of writing is it can help me to relax. If I have problems making me stressed out and really down, I usually vent my feelings and share them with myself through writing. With every letter, phrase, clause, and sentence I type, my burdens slowly decrease. I can be calmer and wiser in facing problems I have. Yeah, writing is really a great mood-booster. When I'm in bliss, I can share my happiness with myself and immediately my happiness multiplied. By writing my happy moments, I can realize how blessed I am and it teaches me to be grateful with all things God always gives to me. So, my definition of writing: writing is my relaxant, either in sadness or happiness.



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