You are

Amusing but confusing.

It is 10.23 pm

I am not surprised that to this day, my world stops when I see you.
I am not surprised that each word from any conversation, insignificant as it may be, plays in my mind like a favorite record.
I am not surprised that at one call, I'd still come.
I am not surprised that the thought of you can sustain me.
I am not surprised that for me, everything seems to be a sign pointing to you even if in reality, it will never do.
I am not surprised that I am still concerned of the littlest things about you.

I am not surprised about anything at all because you are you and I am me and the effect you have on me is.. I dunno. Such.

Senses

Our senses are gifts given to appreciate everything and everyone that is there.
Senses are there to see even in the darkest, to hear in the noisiest and to feel even in nothingness.


The eyes. It is used to see light and darkness alike. It is used to capture images that will be stored as memories to be cherished.
But then the same eyes that see beauty, see what is not beautiful. Eyes that are peeking with concealment into whatever is there. Judging. Eying. Painfully tainting the perfection in the imperfections of things and beings.

The ears. Allows to cherish words that are spoken, sung and those that are even unheard --the ears of the heart. Hearing opens the gates of the imagination fastened between the silence in each and everyone.
But these ears. They are used to distort the beauty of silence. They distort the rhythm of life. Sounds are to be taken as they are. Words are to be understood as they are said. But the ear. These ears. They destroy what is supposed to be imperfectly perfect.

The sense of taste. Tasting the sweetness and the bitterness of all that is there.
But this one sense. It gratifies the soul of whoever is tasting what is spread in front of him. It becomes an avenue for pleasure that is mistaken for genuine emotions that in reality are crooked feelings of disjoint affection and attraction.
That taste. Yes, that sense of taste.

Touch. It is for feeling. Hot and cold, warm and cool. For the soul, touch is for passion. It is for love and care and trust and companionship. Touch is for sharing the feeling of what is great. Something more and beyond pleasure. It is for peace and assurance.
But this touch. It betrays and it hurts. It wounds and it scars.


And in all their seeming perfection,
senses fail.

What's Drawing

Your..

Conviction.
Turtles.
Four-leafed clovers.
Stars.
Lyric-driven songs.
Wonderful insanity.
Writing.
Thoughts.
Words.
Smile.
Flaws.
Beliefs.
Being.

Heat Wave

The heat.
An undesirable feeling, an unwanted sensation.
An uncomfortable streak of seconds, minutes and hours that pass.
That unbearable tinge of sweat.

Yet somehow, it is longed for. It is awaited.
For in heat, there is passion and there is willingness to give.
That precious portion of one's self that is kept from everything and everyone else.

In that moment, in that seemingly uncomfortable streak that pass,
all is given, that precious portion.
Nothing else matters.

Average

I do average things in average ways,
accomplish average things through exerting average effort.

I dream of average dreams and hang on to average hopes,
desire averagely desirable desires.

I say average things with average conviction,
give average affection accompanied by average feelings of connection.

I feed off average thoughts and average results of an idle mind,
averagely laugh at averagely funny extremes.

I walk around carrying average truths and hide behind average lies,
keeping to myself an average combination of authenticity and hypocrisy.

I get average eventualities from average demands,
average satisfaction from average actions.

I reach average heights because of average leaps of faith,
average depths with average sinking underneath.

I feel average feelings and emotions,
average urges and pushes and waves of unclear currents.

I go to average lengths and just get to average distances,
average extents for average effects.

I breathe, bathe, feed, sleep, trip, grip, munch on all that is average,
average seems to be the only property I can claim.

I live an average life;
And probably die an average death.

Acquire average wealth,
and leave them to my heirs in average trays.

Average.