鎖手

"I wish I have no feelings."

Another sigh escapes, more heart-ache inflicted, another reason to punish oneself by depriving the sweetness of sleep.

We are drawn to each other like a moth to the flame. The more we creep closer, the more we get singed. However, we cannot stop. We cannot say 'No more' and find ourselves immediately ceasing all movements. There is a period of confusion, a period of wondering. Interests and self-preservation conflicts, and either way seem to be dreadful to even take a step forward to.

Is this what I desire? Can I handle the responsibility if I accept? This small light glowing anew, can I keep on feeding it so it will burn stronger, or someday I will start to neglect and smother it after? I do not want to be alone, but I will not be able to take care of this light. No, I am sorry.

Is what I want potentially be destructive to others? What about me, will this light kill me in the future? After all those effort invested on making it brighter. I feel that somehow, it will blind me and rob me of all my consciousness.

There's a war in my mind, he said. I know that. I can relate to it, but not completely. After all, it is your war. I am an outsider, and I cannot grasp completely what transpired between you and your life. Even after years of explaining, we will not be able to understand each other completely. Such is life. I can sympathize, but the one that knows most of your pain is only you. Only you can make the change, but we cannot change what is past.

No. No matter how hard you wish for it, the past is past, and will always be the past. Nothing can change that. The only thing you can change is how you feel about it in the present.

I want nothing more but a balance. A delicate scale that is threatening to tip every now and then, and is dangerously close to the edge of a deep ravine. Once it tips to the left, all of its weight will shift and it will end up falling down into the merciless river that sweeps away everything without care. I can go and retrieve the scale after it falls, but I will not be able to climb my way back up. All I can do is to allow the stream to push me to wherever it desires and continue on living on wherever the location it decides to deposit me.

My hands, there's nothing I am holding right now. Underneath this dim light of the bedside lamp, they seem so frail, so insignificant. However, these two hands are very important to me. When I cannot express myself verbally, they will always be reliable to take matters into themselves.

The light is small, and dimming, just like this bedside lamp I have. For that, I apologize.