White Petals

As I left today
I noted the petals that had
fallen on the path
white and unblemished

It felt symbolic and
I knew what those white petals
stood for

Not hope; not purity;
not loving eternally
But goodbye
The petals told me to say
g o o d b y e
To say, jamais...
nevermore!

Though my tread was heavy above them
the raindrop petals gently
clung to my thoughts
and puddled at the bottom of my heart

Oh, how soft they are!
Oh, how they make me ache.
They've put such sorrow in me
(I know they are right)

With reluctance
and a nuance of inevitability,
I murmur goodbye
Not aloud, but every inch of me feels it
like a bruise forming

Only, the white petals swish around
in my brain, satisfied
But their blankness
can't blot out the picture of you
that I hold, and surely will
pour toujours
Their influence could never be so strong
as to erase completely
you

(No, I don't think anything could make me forget now.)




{This was inspired by something that happened today. I wrote it sitting on my bed, a gossamer sadness woven between my fingers. I cannot elaborate on what it is all about. It's ridiculous, it really is. And it's nothing very serious. Or at least, that's what I keep telling myself.
Actually, these past couple weeks I've been rather happy. But there are moments, sometimes days of sadness. And since I always write when I'm feeling low I probably appear to be constantly depressed. I'm not, don't worry. :)
In other news, I made a formspring because, well, I felt like it. So, go ask me anything you like, safely cloaked in the anonymity of the internet. :P}



{Picture found here.}

Silence is priceless.

I've been try to weave a tent of words to hide in... but the softest wind topples it to the ground.
Why can I never be alone? Their abrasive voices always find me.
I would so love to be alone...
Because when people are nearby making noise, I am reminded of their presence.
Even if it's just a sniffing or a rustling... it ties me to the real world.
The sounds they make are ropes, binding me to the things I want to escape.
Silence is much more precious than gold.
Silence is priceless.
I wish people would stop referring to silences as awkward.
Why can't we embrace the quiet?

If I have to fill my silence it will be with the sounds of my favourite musicians.

I've been listening to the girl with the lemonade voice again. The songs from the days when it was just her and a guitar and a boy and a guitar.
I've missed them.
I've been missing the place they sing about.
And I don't even know where it is...

Ah, my lovelies. This past week there has been an inexplicable sadness trailing behind me. It's nothing serious - I hope it is just the winter settling in my ventricles. But I am unable to concentrate. Probably why I have been endeavouring to find silence; in hopes it will give me what I can't hold.
So, I've been holing up in my room, re-reading books like Miss Bishop and I Capture the Castle. And listening to The Finches, remembering summer days swinging in the backyard with my ipod. Back when sunlight barely pierced the canopy of leaves.
I have felt rather absurd in my quest for quiet and solitude. Indeed, it has wreaked havoc on my affability. But still... I desire it more than anything at the moment.

I am curious... what do you, my dearest readers, want at this moment?

{Both pictures were taken by me. I messed with the contrast on the first one. It kind of looks like I have red hair. I don't really, the light was shining on my hair and I have [natural!] red highlights.}

An E.J.B. Poem

 











She dried her tears and they did smile
To see her cheeks' returning glow
How little dreaming all the while
That full heart throbbed to overflow

With that sweet look and lively tone
And bright eye shining all the day
They could not guess at midnight lone
How she would weep the time away 

~Emily Jane Brontë

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
{I have been writing a lot this week. More than I have in a long time. I stayed up till 1 AM last night working on one of my stories. It is rather strange that I have had such an outpouring of thoughts since I'm also being plagued by self-doubts. They rear their ugly heads every now and then. Oh, how I wish I knew a spell to oust them! So, consequently, nothing I write seems to measure up to some obscure standard I've set. I can never decide if self-imposed standards are beneficiary or just stifling...}
{Picture by and of me.}

Thanks & Nostalgia

It’s hard to remember to be thankful when my grandparent’s house suddenly feels shrunk by the influx of relatives.
The air is thick with boisterous laughter and stories. Some funny, some unnecessary.
The floor is littered with spoken, inexorable opinions. (Forgotten for now but they will undoubtedly be picked up and shown around again.)
All I want to do is hide. (And I do, for a while, with my fellow hermit brothers.)

It’s hard to remember to be thankful when I think that this time next year this house that my grandparents have lived in the past 50 years will be sold and they will have moved to be closer to their only daughter (my mother). I’m going to miss this house so much; it is the place I love most next to my own home. Though I am glad they're moving closer...
It troubles me to see how much my grandfather has aged. How slow his movements are… how hunched he stands. (My grandmother seems the same as ever, gentle and full of helpful energy. But still, she's aging too.) I hate how old everyone is getting! Including myself.

It wasn’t until I lay in bed Thanksgiving night that I finally gave thanks to God for His many blessings. I think this year I am thankful for the memories most of all. I cannot contemplate a life without memories. Right now, especially, since remembrances of my grandparent's house are filling my head....

Watching shows like The Brady Bunch and Leave it to Beaver on cable. (Quite a treat for us!)

Anticipating Christmas in the basement with the cousins. (Wondering why the adults upstairs keep talking and drinking coffee while we can’t keep our eyes off the tree and the presents underneath it.)

Playing the ancient piano in the basement that hasn’t been in tune for several decades, at least.

Swinging on the swing on the slope (aka 'hill') in their backyard. Closing my eyes and pretending I was flying. Arguing with siblings and cousins whose turn it was. Sadness when most of us grew too big for it.

Blowing out the gas flame in the fireplace with fellow curly-haired mischievous cousin… The confession when the basement started to smell of gas. (No harm done, thankfully. We weren’t the first ones to do that, either. The constant blue flame proved too great a temptation for quite a few of our predecessors and successors.)

Laughter in the teeny kitchen, crazy games in the basement with my siblings… the list goes on.

My older-younger brother and I used to say that we would buy this house someday and live in it. That thought makes me sad now.

Moving on is bittersweet, I am truly realizing that now. Overall though, I am thankful for the wonderful times I had here and glad I can remember them with such happiness.

(I found this picture in my grandparent’s basement. It’s me, around 4 years old or so, on the aforementioned swing.)


{Sorry if this post isn't very coherent. I'm overflowing with contradictory emotions, reminiscences and tiredness. Oi.}