Things do work out finally, somehow.
Like Tia reminded me the other day when I was balancing on the edge of Sanity,
"Every thing happens for a reason".

Believe it.
They do! They do!
(:

Plainly put, I wish you were here.
It's not mere conjured phantoms and chimeras that haunt my mind,
but something more familiar, a frequent stalker at late, lonely hours.
And only one person can conquer it.

Today I spent time facing the wall against my bed.
I studied the grooves, the tiny eddies.
I tried looking for ears. I didn't find any.
I like leaning my back against it while lying on my bed.
The best of both worlds: hard and soft, cold and warm.
The bubbles in the paint don't burst. Air.
I can trace rivers in it. Long veins of solid flow. Water.
Imagine the rock it is made of. Earth.
Or the sun that dried the mud into bricks. Fire.
I suddenly recalled the advertisement where the paint was so smooth, lizards slide right off it.
Do you think lizards ever get motion sickness tracking walls?
I don't think I'll make a good lizard.
I'll drop off walls and get squished by the eeee-o-mi-gord-a-lee-zaard!!!-people.
):
I wonder why I was never one of those kids who drew on their bedroom walls.
But then again, that wasn't a good habit to have.
Probably a residual vestige of cave-man entertainment.
They say you can hear the sea if you listen to a sea shell.
Put your ears to the wall:
There's a dull, aching drumming pound,
not unlike a heartbeat.

Tell me -- How do you swallow another's soul? I need to fill this deep hunger. Is it of it that I partake when I inhale the same time you exhale and I taste the lingering sweetness... Are your thoughts made of the same intoxicating substance? Can you not know how mystery works to numb my mind? When. you. yourself. are. an. enigma. If I could I'll sew you to my bones. No- I'll eat you whole. Nothing less would do, except for you. To become a part of me.

Errhem. Hem Hem.

OHHHHHHHHH!!!!!..

I'm a happy teapot, short and stout.
bloated with tea leaves, milk and malt.
drink from the nozzle, or from a cup,
with gingerbread or madeleines, drink me up...HEY!
I'm a little teapot, gobblewobblstop,
yummypommweeflorriyammydot.
(:

one potato, two marshmallows, three of cherrypie,
sing a tummy full of pottypattymy.
Drink a drop of peter piper's pretty pepperpop,
pay a visit to the balloon man at the funny fun fair shop.

OOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
Heehee.
((:

Like an hourglass laid on its side, the crystals stuck forever in each half.
or so it seems.

there is a destiny more doomed than living either extremes: it's being stuck in between, bounded by inertia.
somehow at this point of time, given a line, I'll place the "you are here" dot right in the middle.
With hope, I could be all this and still be a maelstrom of crazy emotions.
But my head is now an empty street.
Lately I can't feel my bones; It's not my own skin I'm in.

Time and time again it strikes me, how the things that most fascinates us,
holds the most meaning for us, for the longest time,
are the things we can't put a name to, can't define.
Not so much for their elusiveness, because curiousity only spans so far;
(And the mind, the mind never fails to bring reasons good enough to let go when our heart knows it's forever beyond reach)
Rather, a presence intangible, incompassible, unforgettable.
A sudden glimpse, a flickered flame, a sudden whisper that says, "maybe it's time you stop trying to know what I am, and just experience this."
What's in a name?
just a name in itself.
We hold precious the things that seem most ephemeral, fickle and fragile.
Little do we know, it's the strings of wonder we tie to it that makes the very same thing unalterable, untainted and powerful, perennially for us.