Random scatters of writings

63. Love

2010-10-31T01:32:00.004+08:00

A gaze.
A hug.
Fingers entwined.

A fluttering touch.
A fantasized kiss.
Felt my heart throb.

Away.
A look.
Feel my heart throb.

Feel my heart throb.

A lover.
A thought.

Stubborness.
Fear.
Worry.

Love.

There's no heartbeat.

Liar liar.

85. Sleep

2009-08-22T02:56:00.000+08:00

“Darling, it’s time to wake up and get ready for work.”

I wake to this phrase everyday, to the rolling melodious voice of my beloved, and to the warm smile that was as beautiful as dawn. My beloved would place a chaste kiss to either side of my cheeks, and to my forehead on the occasion. These little acts of love that she showers on me every morning brighten my day more than anything else.

I often wish that I could do the same for her, but sleep is like a stubborn child which clings on to my consciousness for as long as it could, coyly luring me with the prospects of wonderful dreams. I have been chided more than once by my family and my love for oversleeping, earning myself the title of ‘sleepyhead’. The rare days where I did wake up earlier than the woman I adore were spent in bliss as I absorbed the image of my angel in slumber, and giggling to myself at the sounds of her cute snores.

Inadvertently, there were times where I awoke in the middle of the night, drenched in a body of cold sweat. Nightmares that didn’t make sense were usually the result of a stressful day, where the prospect of sleep was both tantalizing and filled with caution. In retrospective though, the human need of sleep usually wins in such situations.

Ah, but I love it when the opposite happens… where my dreams are filled with happiness and love of anything wonderful. I have dreamt of my ideal future for the both of us, as well as promotions in my workplace amongst some others. It never ceases to amaze me what a human mind when combined with sleep could do. Such is the way of life, I suppose.

And before I knew it, it was time to say hello to a stubborn old friend again. Oh well.

4. Euphoria

2009-04-21T22:29:00.000+08:00

Did you ever know, that I cried at the thought of losing you?

Have you ever wondered how much you meant to me?

Words are never enough to tell you how I feel.

For you though, I must try.

Your eyes remind me of the bright sun, shining in love and warmth as you looked at me. Sometimes, you peep – other times, you stare directly into my eyes, showering me with your love. I love your eyes, because they are windows to your soul… and they tell me I am loved.

I love your arms. Arms that make me feel safe and home, where I know I belong. They are like the tree branches of a big tree, sheltering me from the storms and the scorching heat, giving me a secure haven where I can rest and cry in. But I love your hugs even more than your arms, for your hugs hold me so close to you. I love being held by you.

My dear chubby bunny, I can’t help but laugh at your silly gestures and animated looks. I adore the way you behave, and how honest and funny you are, even without trying to humour me. It was what first drew me to you – your sense of humour and fun. I will continue to delight in laughing at you, because it’s what makes me grin 24/7 when I’m around you.

The touches of your lips against mine… the changing taste of you when you eat different things… my desire to kiss you silly or to be kissed breathless never ceased. Have I ever told you how much I loved those lips of yours, or that softness that’s uniquely you? When you kiss me, all I feel is how much you love me… and how much I want for you to kiss me forever and ever. I enjoy your kisses, sometimes even more than your touch because your lips are simply too irresistible.

You drive me crazy, you know. I especially love the way you suck on my sensitive areas. The way you touch me feels so right, even though they might hurt sometimes. I love the feel of your fingers running up and down my body, stroking at my sensitive spots. The physical way you show your love to me is so addicting, but my body sometimes lack the energy to keep up with your boundless amount of love. Nevertheless, I crave for your sexy touches.

But most of all, I love you for your bravery and your honesty, and I am certain that you will overcome your weakness with your sheer willpower and strength. I adore the way you are when you do stuff you don’t like for me, like eating that cake and the weird-tasting lunch. I know it’s strange to be someone’s guinea pig, but I love the way you give me comments on stuff I make for you.

My dear, do you now know the extent of my love for you? It is limitless and so deep that it scares me as well…

I love you.

3. Heartbreak

2009-02-06T02:57:00.000+08:00

It was the sound of shattering glass. It was the vocals of a broken singer. It was the heart-wrenching melody of a violin. It was the painful sensation of heartbreak - a fabric of one’s being torn into pieces within an instant.

The protective bindings of love were ripped away with a single claw of betrayal, violently exposing delicateness to the harsh reality. Black covers barely shielded naked skin from those tearful green eyes, as an equally bare arm sought to redeem its mistress. At the touch of those tainted hands, a chill travelled down her spine instead of the usual warmth and love, and all was lost.

She flinched from the touch.

It was broken glass. It was agony. It was the beauty of imperfection.

Heartbreak.

2. Serenity

2009-02-05T02:25:00.002+08:00

The landscape was painted a picture of calm. Rows upon rows of oak trees surrounded the tranquil lake like guardians of a sacred place, silently waiting for the chosen one to arrive. The cloudless sky reflected on the water surface, casting an ethereal blueness in that small pool. The white beaches and fine sand of the perched lake cast beautiful imagery upon the picture; it was a dish waiting to be savoured by those with a keen eye and a camera. Such was the serenity of a paradise on Earth.

Darkness loomed in every inch of the space, and there was no wind to speak of. In this void, little was left but an occasional meteorite floating past an arbitrary planet. Great was the distance away from the universe’s star, but warmth and light still lingered on the coarse, exposed surface of random objects, bathing them in a different form of endearment. Time was incessant here – deadlines and the hustle-bustle of modern living were absent, replaced by the continuous flow of gases and liquids on these magnificent giants. Space was the paradise beyond Earth, the mixture of peace and unknown danger highlighting the calmness before storm; serenity in its best moment.

1. Tragedy

2009-02-03T00:45:00.002+08:00

Amidst the chaos, a single girl crawled out from a loose pile of rocks some distance away, clutching tightly to her torn teddy bear as she stared at the landscape before her. A mixture of shock and pain crossed her young features as comprehension slowly set in. That fateful instant, with her head tilted to the heavens and tears rolling down her dirty cheeks, she realized that she was now truly alone in this world.

There were screams everywhere, and the fallen rubble was aflame. The buildings that once stood magnificently in the city were reduced to a pathetic state; where there had been colors, it all became grey. Even the weather was mourning - the onslaught of rain and darkened skies terrible to one who had just lost a loved one to the earthquake. There was no joy.

It was supposed to be Christmas on this day, a season of laughter and giving.

As if the heavens were playing a sick joke to the civilians, the area most brutalized by the disaster seemed like an overgrown Christmas tree from a bird’s eye view. The destruction was akin to the dark needles of the Christmas pine, and the blinking red and blue lights of the auxiliary vehicles reflected cheerful bulbs adorning that particular tree in joy. Like an artist’s finest moment, the final brushstroke of fear was made with longing and regret as the earth finally grumbled and stilled moments later. Sweat on the backs of the anxious rescue teams mingled with the gently pelting rain as they dug through mud and stone for survivors, many of whom had died with little suffering.

Footprints of loss and pain etched deep in their souls and hearts, it was the survivors who faced the aftermath - the real tragedy.

My crime is you.

2008-12-17T04:42:00.008+08:00

I am a criminal.

There’s a story hidden deep within my memories… and it’s buried at the core of my very being because it hurts so much.

Today is the 8th anniversary.

-

To others (even my family), I was a downright rebel and often a pain in the ass. I stole from a candy store at age 5, and did drugs and nicotine when I was 14 (and quitted after I couldn’t stand the aftertaste). At 15, I was expelled from school because I argued with the teachers and broke the principal’s window when I threw a textbook at it. My parents gave up on me after that, and life in general was without meaning. I worked as a store assistant in a food stall once, but I ended up stepping ever so frequently on the toes of my employer that he was forced to sack me. It simply wasn’t in my character to take orders from anyone, and after some twists and turns, I ended up being my own boss in a small fashion boutique. I was quite successful, and so much so that it seemed like the external forces of good fortune was smiling down at me constantly with their pretty faces. Yes, that was my life.

She was different. We were polar opposites of each other, like night and day. I believed I was the night of the union, and she was the day. She was the apple of everyone’s eye as much as I was their bane of existence, and the proud daughter of her family (much unlike me). Her grades in school were excellent, and she was doing her Masters degree when I first met her. She was fit for the stage, where the bright lights would shine down on her; I was fit for the backstage crew - dressed in black behind the scenes - maneuvering the spotlights to shine her best.

It’s funny, really, why we were attracted to each other. My first look at her took my breath away in an instant - and a second, my heart. I helplessly fell downwards into the spiral of love, drowned by her bottomless blue eyes and her soft voice as she spoke to me about a dress she wanted. Easily, I understood why she was so well-liked. She was like the princess of a country, loved by her people for her kindness and beauty. I was like a common peasant, admiring her from afar. Yet, I never really understood why this princess chose to come down from her castle to greet a peasant like me.

Like other couples, we dated after we knew each other for a while. Movies, dinner and even moonlight swims at a nearby lake were some activities we did together, but we never slept over as each other’s places. Nevertheless, she was perfect, immaculate in my eyes. Sometimes, when we met, I would bring her a new dress from my store to try on, just to see how beautiful she would look in them. When she had to study for the exams, I would leave her on her own, because I knew how distracting love could be. She understood. She always knew what my intentions were.

One day… I realized what everything was – ethereal.

My instincts had told me something strange was going on. We were still polar opposites; but now, her aloofness matched my passion, and her masks of perfectness contrasted against my demands of trueness. She was still adored by many and made her parents proud, but she was no longer the perfect apple. The bright lights that shone on her showed me her flaws when her façade cracked under the constant pressure of being the princess. Try as I might, I could not help her.

This coarse street ruffian should never have touched the princess.

Bit by bit, day became night. What was once beaming to the world became dull and dark as time passed. I saw her brave front falter a little more every day, as her flame extinguishes within the walls she built around herself. I had an inkling of what had caused this.

Rejection.

My parents had given up on me, a long time ago. What I did now matters not to them.
But she was different. She loved her parents – and she loved me. Torn apart between us because of their disapproval of such a relationship, she was fighting a losing battle.

I didn’t want to leave her. “I love you forever,” she said.

A few more days, I promised myself. I would try to save her.

I held back.

Never did I know that it was all it took for her to break. Her brother shunned her. Her parents slapped her, threatening to send her overseas for education if she continued seeing me.

A few days were all it took.

I chased after her, fearful of what would happen if she were to reach her destination.

In her hands she clutched tightly to a kitchen knife, running away from my grasp. She was deranged. She was aiming to kill her parents... The very same parents whom she had talked lovingly to me about; a father who brought her to sail the world’s wonders, and a mother who was kindly in every way if not stubborn. She mustn’t do it, not to her parents. Not to anyone.

She must not.

I caught up with her, and we struggled. I tried to pin her down, and she accidentally slashed me with her knife. It was a blur. Everything was a blur. A mess. I didn’t know what had happened, but…

Then I really missed what really did exist when I held your throat so tight.

…she stopped moving.

What smells the warmest?

2008-12-13T00:59:00.005+08:00

I once held her hands as we strolled down the cobblestone path along our garden, intertwining our fingers together. I remembered that her soft hands that were as smooth as silk, and pale like a full moon. She was my love, the one whom I have searched for throughout my life, and her soul fits right next to mine. Life was good to us then; we had a house, an obedient golden retriever, and time for each other every now and then. Our house was painted white, the window frames were a cheery orange and the doors were purple. Our balcony overlooked the nearby sea, and we woke to beautiful sunrises every morning. I would give her a kiss before I left the bed for work, and she would hug me from behind as I brushed my teeth. Life was good to us.

She asked me this question, not too long ago, as she watched me put on some makeup for work - ‘Lily, what smells the warmest?’ At that time, I didn’t know how to reply. ‘Give me sometime to think about it,’ I said, after some thought. But me being me, I totally forgot all about the question as I became trapped in the haze of endless documents and proposals at the office. The question slipped my mind, and she didn’t press me for an answer. She was an understanding person, a great cook, and just so mysterious at times. Whenever I returned home, she would greet me with a world class smile on her face or a cheeky grin before ushering me to the dining table for dinner. Food was always there, but I could never fathom how she, a person who works as hard as I am, would always have the energy and time to make dinner for the both of us. In return, I get to practice my massaging skills on her aching shoulders after a refreshing bath together at night.

Life continues on as a fairytale, but fate was cruel to me. Perhaps it was jealous of my life with my love, as it took her away from me. You see, one day, when I came home, there was no warm smile or a cheeky grin greeting me at the door, or a lovely lady decked in an apron ushering me to the table. The house was bleak; its white walls never seemed so plain, and the orange and purple so mocking. Red was strewn all over the carpet, and on it laid my beautiful girl spread across the crimson like a fallen angel. Words fail to describe my shock as I knelt beside her like a prince to a princess, stroking her pale face, calling out to her to wake up as my fingers fumbled to phone for the ambulance. Rationale abandoned me slowly as it dawned to me that I was too late. She was cold to the touch, like ice, or maybe it was the chill in my heart that made it seem so.

Please.

I held her to my body, wishing that my warmth would wake her up, or by some miracle she would suddenly give me a smile and shout ‘Surprise!’ But nothing happened. As I knelt there, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor with the wind before me.

‘What smells the warmest?’

I knew then, what the answer was.

Fairytales, my love, and only you would smell like the fairytale you bring me.

But she would never hear me speak again.