everything in the furnace eventually burns

I am so mad right now.

The worse part is I am blaming someone I shouldn't. I cannot help myself, though. I am only human after all. They say that humans have a tendency to feel as if they know more pain or are that they are more lonely than anyone else they know. I feel that way sometimes. I know this cannot be entirely true, but unless I know that you've been through what I've been through, seen what I saw, carry a guilt the same as I carry mine, I know that I will always know more pain than anyone else I know.

At a balcony of a favorite breakfast place, where exciting talks happen, made more exciting with the most delicious doughnut and bitter cigarettes, my best friend told me: memory aids healing. No, I wanted to tell her. Memory reminds you of dried wounds only to gash it again. I remained silent and shrugged my shoulders instead.

I wish I could say that I'm an expert in forgetting. That's what I've been doing for the past 5 years, after all. Forgetting. And I wish I could say that forgetting aids healing, contrary to what my best friend said, but I know this can't be entirely true, as well. I learned that you can never truly forget; just like burying treasure. You bury it deep in the ground, but no matter what happens, even if you think you've forgotten, you'll always know where it is. Even if you can't see it, your mind will always know it exists. Thus, ever present.

Someone once said, everything in the furnace eventually burns. I hope so. I'd prefer being left with ashes that will eventually dissolve with the wind, rather than having to live with its presence forever.

Like so many times before, I promised never to write again about my perpetual loneliness. It just can't be helped, though. Writing is all I have, after all. The best thing about writing is that I always feel tons better after. I know I do, right now. I am sorry you had to read this, but not so sorry because I never told you to.

And yes, after two years, this blog is back to life.

Him, Her

He craves for what will satiate the empty spaces.

So each bite of those sweet treats is a clandestine desire to satisfy him.

Little does he know that even if he consumes everything,

He’d still want more - a full stomach isn’t what he needed.

She thirsts for warmth.

So she drinks. She drinks hot coffee every chance she gets.

She drinks coffee whose taste doesn’t even satisfy her,

And whose warmth scorches her tongue every time she imbibes it too hastily.

He yearns for adventure.

So he reads, watches movies and he writes.

He chooses to escape into other people’s lives because his is too much of a humdrum.

He wants to act. So he could flee from reality and live various lives in one lifetime.

She pines for affection.

Every breath is as cold as the morning showers of August.

There are dry cheeks where there used to be tears of fervor,

And fraudulent laughter where there used to be the most special smile.

If they’d be a donut, they would be the like the classic holed ones.

Coated with colorful sprinkles all around but for the perfect emptiness left right where it should be full- the middle.

She longs for love.

And he is in pursuit of this thing, called happiness.

Imprint.

It's like one of those moments when suddenly everything just falls into place. You can't tell how, or why. It just does. Like falling leaves in autumn—beautiful—even when it's supposedly dying.

It's like one of those moments when suddenly everything just falls into place- unpredictable and fast.

It's like one of those moments when suddenly everything just falls into place. Or out of it. Suddenly everything just loses all sense and none of the pieces fit together anymore. Unfathomable, instantaneous.

It's like watching fireworks on that chilly evening - one moment everything's all colorful and bright, full of marvelous wonders, and the next it's gone. All that's left are traces of smoke and maybe vague shapes of shadows marked on your sight - something that happens after you've looked at something too bright.

It's like seeing a shooting star on a peaceful night - your heart skips a beat at the sight of it. For a fleeting moment you only think of that one thing that you most love. You close your eyes, make a wish, and before you know it, that rare thing, that beautiful flash of light in the heavens is gone—before you can even say please.

It's like that moment you brushed your lips against my skin. Soft, and warm—it felt nice and familiar against my cold skin. My heart skipped a beat. And suddenly things you've never even considered could now be awaiting possibilities.

The Act.

It’s been a year and a half yet
I still come back to that night
so often, reliving it so vividly like
it just happened yesterday.

Standing in front of that large crowd
I need not to pretend
I could declare all my love and
give not a care in the world.

What would be a more perfect moment?
Pitch black darkness, with only the brightest beam
of light blinding me, nothing else existed-
nothing else mattered.

The room was silent of any sound,
I could hear only the beat of my heart
singing a million songs,
Rejoicing.

Proclaiming- what feelings have been
hidden for so long. There was only the sound
of my voice singing the song of
my tainted heart to those hundreds waiting.

You came, singing the same perfect tune-
it was beautiful. For once,
we need not be afraid-
and that we knew. Hence

the most beautiful melody
we’ve ever created. But,
all good things must come
to an end- an end neither of us

expected to come too soon.
The lights went back on,
so did the walls binding our hearts
apart, and that was it.