「GOOD ENDING」を書きします。

I know misery, and now I should be able to know the opposite of it.

Didn't know what I have until it is gone, and the old feeling that remains here is continually going up and down. The one who was supposed to be the most significant one in my life is now turning into someone whose name must not be recalled.

Sitting here in front of my computer, with a journal placed right next to it, I am trying to figure out what I meant while writing pages full of nonsensical things. I dreamed of forest burning with a pale blue flame, and from the ashes a giant hand formed. I recorded these dream events and re-read them the next day, when I am much more coherent than the drowsy state I was in when I jotted down the main points.

Walking up the stair at home,  I peek through the small window there and look up to the full moon. It is so bright and seem cheerful. Orbiting our planet and incurring the sea's wrath, is the moon benevolent or malevolent? It is a source of many creative writings, and also symbolize mankind's first step of space exploration. Some members of our species already set foot there, and I am still here wondering if the moon can have its own internet connection. That way, if I am to be there in some weird, warped up future, I won't have to miss reading up my favorite sites.

I will write a good ending, the voice in my dream said. I was wandering in a desolate place with white sand spreading all over to the infinite horizon. I was all alone, no trace of other civilization there other than broken monoliths, but oddly I had a feeling that that lonely feeling did not matter to me anyway. I had a mission in that dream, and only by reaching the monoliths that I would accomplish that mission. In my mind was a certain woman in deep blue dress and bright red lips, and I would find her there.

And when I reached a spot where the monoliths were, I sat down and looked up on the sky. I was looking for something, and I didn't find it. A bright green light flashed down from the spot I was looking at, and I smelt something that resembled an overheated electrical appliance. The lightning hit the ground and I expected there to be some kind of object there. 

There was nothing.

An echo in the far distance, 'I will write you a good ending' but I couldn't see the one that said those words.

After that, I remember looking for the woman in deep blue dress and bright red lips. I can't recall if I found her after that, though. It is all hazy and the memory of the dream is mixed up with a few scenes from previous dreams.

Another night, and another dream. Good, pleasant ones and bad, scarring ones. Which one will it be tonight?

Tripped and falling down. A familiar motion embedded in the muscle memory. Thrown the arms forward to break the fall, a reflex honed by time.

Bloodied nose, a metallic taste in my mouth. Withholding the urge to throw up.

I am not that weak. I am not this weak.

I am still here, in the white room. I am still cradling on the past that I wanted to discard a long time ago. It's been months, and I still have to cater to the stray thoughts about something I am supposed to forget.

I hate it, I hate it. These negative words keep on haunting, dangling on the tip of my tongue. They want me to say them out loud.

People I know don't need to be burdened any further. If I show them my weaknesses, they will be disillusioned and keep their distance from me. Them and their assumption. Once they know that I am not as the one they thought I should be, they'll admonish and starts to hate.

I am not dreaming, right? I am living in this reality, even  when I do not wish for it. I am given a chance, and still am finding my true purpose here. It can't be just to merely spread my seed. It can't be.

No. It can't be.

Here, it just rains a little bit. Mosquitoes spring to life and begin to hound us the larger creatures. The black cat struggles from the bites and is trying to find some comfort in my room. I am sorry that I can't do much for you.

And here I am, facing many work and ending up procrastinating. I maim my responsibilities and throw away people's hope that I will finish up the job.

Now I am gnawing on the last thread that connects me to the outside world, desperately trying to cut off the link between my world and the outside world. I am running away yet again.

No one understands me. No one should understand me.

I was wrong before, and there will always be someone that understand. Entrapped in grief, I wasn't even able to see clearly. All I saw, at that time, were past memories and crossroads where what I said and did would led to different situations.

My chest aches yet again, and I know I should stop reminiscing right now. However, in front of this torrent of emotions, I am powerless.

Memories of False Fronts and the Red Box

Walking down the road, watching the hustle and bustle of the city. Looking up to the darkening sky, and I wonder.

"_______, how does this world look to you?"

I hate it.

A bit confused, and not fully awake yet, seeing people nonchalantly dump their trash out from their car window.

"_______, how does this world look to you?"

I don't like it.

You said it's the truth. I open my eyes and see for myself. Of this peaceful country filled with people who said they know everything. Of people behaving like they are not affected by other countries' tragedies.

Hey, _______? You aren't missing anything. By leaving, you were supposed to be spared from this sight and believed that in the future, everything will change.

This static country is starting to change little by little, but I am still stuck in my own bubble, steadily tumbling forward, unaffected by the flow of time. More and more, people around me are accepting the changes and innovations, but they are still the same no matter how much they do.

Sleeping on the couch, waking up to the smell of cigarette and lit matches. A local radio station making announcement of an electrical cable maintenance.

Therefore on tomorrow afternoon, all the affected areas will experience power outage due to the work being carried out. This will continue until the maintenance is finished.

Same old, same old. Whether you are around or not, it is still the truth. I tried to blind myself from the reality by turning to you, but now that you have left, I have nothing else.

_______, I made a note to myself a long time ago. I still keep it even though all other things related to you have been sealed away in the red box. I never showed it to you, and I will never show it to anyone else.

Opening my eyes after a nap, trying to figure out if I am still dreaming or not, and the clock shows half past three in the afternoon. Outside is still warm, and the sky's pleasant. However, I don't want to go out.

Stop, the red box says, opening me won't solve anything, and drowning yourself in the past won't make you stronger. Lock me up and keep me someplace away from you.

I hate it when you said it's the truth.

I hate it.

But it is still the truth.

And I still wonder how does this world look to you.

私はいつもここにいる

Once again. Dreamed once again.

We crossed path, and pretended to not notice.Two people who exchanged vows, now passed each other without even glancing.

The familiar throb in my chest, I thought I wouldn't have to experience it again. This tightening vice I left behind, it still dangles inconspicuously around my heart.

A red string leading to the outside of my room. Tied to my right little finger, it lays there weakly. Asleep, undisturbed and slightly feverish, I tug lightly at the string to see if it is attached to something.

The temperature lowers, and the night is still young. A silent footsteps outside and a vacant home in the neighborhood. Loneliness even when surrounded by people. Trapped within a physical container that hosts another soul.

Entitled to this, was I? All due to my cruelty, now I am forced to stay within this white room. As always, I am cultivating another demon in the comfort of this encroaching white walls.

Please. Let me go.

Souls of places past, an echo in the background. A resonance in the air. Glowing light that grows faint with every second passing. Another shadow lingers and a rough awakening inside the bed.

The mad night has a grip on me, and I am still escaping. This device that is supposed to connect to the collective consciousness of the people, will it save me? Will I be enslaved by it like any other people? We are trading the warmth of companionship for the steady hum of electricity.

大丈夫。
私はいつもここにいる。

The ceiling is alone.
The keys are still here.
The sun's asleep, and the blanket still smell like you.
It's okay.
I'll be fine here.

Awaiting for the dates of remembrance, and my own rebirth into another me.