This is last call

I’m on my own.

That is me, the white sea and the sound of truth – the necessary ingredients to arouse solitude into creative action. That was all I used to know before I got more involved with people.

It seems the more I try, the more I lose it. I confide in many, as I don’t believe I have anything to hide, yet my black book is full shit that I won’t ever share. There is so much spite, anger and envy that I can’t believe it’s me. I do hope it’s not me, but merely a playground for me to untie some tight knots.

Certain instinct-related actions are so confusing. Who knows, maybe they’re not meant to be examined. There are many things you won’t ever understand why you did them. Think about whether it was your choice after all.

When things happen, are we doing something for them to happen? I don’t know anymore. I didn’t realise there were distinct meanings between “fate” and “destiny.” Fate depicts a set of inevitable events, whereas destiny depicts a probable future, which means you have a choice. You give it the benefit of the doubt. Maybe something will work itself out. So, of course, I’m more partial to destiny; I’ve seen enough signs. Years ago, I would have denied them with no excuses. But there is something out there bigger than you and me.

I feel most alone when I’m with someone that arouses no spark. It makes me a dick that’s too gutless to say sorry. They are good people, more than I deserve. However, they are wrong to think the same way about me. I am not a keeper. I prefer to chase that spark, though, despite knowing it’s only temporary. No, for me, it’s forever; temporary is just for those who ignite the spark in me. To them, I’m most likely just a bus stop. I’m the one who can’t forget. Yet I wish I could erase some memories that remind me of how much I hate myself for being so over-adventurous and risky, hopeful and full of shit.

Shit stinks. To shed some light upon my foolishness, I give in to the moment.

Do you know what it’s like to feel fundamentally lost? Unaware that all this time, it was nobody but you who have tied yourself in knots? You who deluded yourself into believing that you can make a difference by risking hurting your ego? I’m tired now.

Everyone goes away in the end. Those who won’t come back will always remain in your head. They left you after the foreplay. The wetness turns cold; you curve your back and bow your head into a fetal position. Do you feel hurt? Do you feel cold?

Most importantly, it keeps the journey safe – the hurt, the cold–and you know you’ll do it again.

Je pourrais risquer de me blesser très fort. Parce que je ne vais pas arrêter d’atteindre pour ce que je ne peux pas avoir.

I realised that I’m always looking for is a (temporary) muse. The affair with the muse ends after the completion of a piece. It’s like dedicating a good-bye letter to him, a letter they’ll never read–even better. That way, they won’t ever know how special they are to me. The funny part of this is that it’s not me that throws them away in the end. My ongoing problem is that I grow too attached to my muse, no, obsessed, as I come back to squeeze out some more. And before I make things harder than they already are, I always decide to go.

A good friend says that travel does not heal the soul and that he only found himself lonely in a different landscape. But soul-healing is not my intention. You can’t heal anything, ever. You can only overcome it with strength. You gain that strength through learning. Travel for me means to open a new door. That’s all I’m after.

Yet, I’m a slow learner; it’s not smart taking too many risks. So I guess destiny did kick my arse by pointing the finger at me. But I’m grateful for the reminder.

I think about so many people, and I only do so little for them. Sometimes they confide in me more than I can handle. The main reason being – them developing inappropriate emotions that I can’t handle. I know, why complain if I’ve always wanted them to confide in me?

Maybe because I’m not the answer.

If there is no spark, there is no interest. If I could navigate my brain towards chasing the simple things, I would. But that would be cheating.

Back to being a dick:

The adventurous rat may one day trip very badly, and not even the ox will help him up.

If you know that every reaction has an end, why search for the ingredients for a perfect chemical reaction? But he’d give anything for one single moment of love.

Then forever without. That’s when he realizes he is alone. Alone, by choice. For the sake of the spark.

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