Thursday, June 21


We will never be cats. 

Wednesday, August 6


To dream that you are wearing inappropriate shoes for the occasion or for the activity at hand means that your progress and path in life will be long, hard and laborious. It may also indicate that you are heading in the wrong direction. Perhaps you need to reevaluate your goals. If you dream that your shoes do not fit or that they pinch and hurt, then it means that you are questioning your goals. You are doubting the direction of the path you are taking.

If you dream that you lose your shoes, then it suggests that you are searching for your identity and finding yourself.

To dream that you are drunk suggests that you are acting careless and insensible. You are losing control of your life and losing a grip on reality. Perhaps you are trying to escape from a waking situation. 

To dream that you have difficulties walking indicates that you are reluctant and hesitant in proceeding forward in some situation. You may also be trying to distance yourself from certain life experiences. The difficulty in walking is a reflection of your current situation and the obstacles that you are experiencing. 

To dream that your mate, spouse, or significant other is cheating on you indicates your fears of being abandoned. You may feel a lack of attention in the relationship. Alternatively, you may feel that you are not measuring up to the expectations of others. This notion may stem from issues of trust or self-esteem. The dream could also indicate that you are subconsciously picking up hints and cues that your significant other is not being completely truthful or is not fully committed in the relationship.

To dream that someone is taking revenge on you signifies fear and distrust. 

Tuesday, July 29

I used to write

I no longer write like I used to. 

Maybe it's because I've finally learned to let go. I don't have to churn anymore, over the words that no one ever told me, or the words I got.
I wonder whether the fight left me, or I left the fight. 

But I do miss writing. Intensely, freely, filled with clich├ęs and banality. There's this anxiety over it all, and it's terrible and funny, and I wish it hadn't stopped. 

The End finally ended. 

Something reappeared the other day, quite surprisingly, I was taken off guard by it. I never knew it was lost to begin with. The monotony might have stolen it, or maybe it was the absence of monotony that took it away. 
Either way it's been reintroduced. Louder than ever. 

There's this innate encryption present, that I can't seem to get rid of. I'll attempt it anyway. It's something we have in common.

Everything has gotten so large that words seem too small for anything that needs to be said. I'm waiting, speechlessly, instead. Perhaps that's the whole reason I stopped writing in the first place, come to think of it. 

There still might be words left in me. 

Tuesday, January 14

When two worlds collide

She says forget what you have to do

Pretend there is nothing
Outside this room
And like an idea she came to me
But she came too late
Or maybe too soon
I said please try not to love me
Close your eyes, I'm turning on the light
You know I have no vacancy
And it's awfully cold outside tonight

Tuesday, April 16

Are we?

Are we cyclopses? 
(muffled laugh)

Thursday, April 4


I'll tell you in another life, when we are both cats. 

Thursday, November 1


The old clock on the wall makes resounding tick-tocks all the way from the living room, to the kitchen, to the bathroom, to the bedroom, reminding me that time is passing, minutes come and go and I am without.

My mind is reasoning with me, I'm arguing with myself for the millionth time, but I can't put my fears away, and all this time lets me dig them out, pick them up and study them up close. The more I study, the bigger they become, until they take up all the room in this apartment, they grow in record time, from a little, shriveled seed hidden away to filling the space between all the walls.
Until they choke me.

They color my white space black. It starts with a cloud of gray that spreads like cancer, that lets me wallow in egocentric misery and self-pity. This destruction of what is beautiful always goes too far, and I poison everything I touch with it.
I can't help it. I'm trying to help it.

I know we can't always be truthful. Honesty is a double-edged sword. If you told me about the places you miss and the people you've thought of, would it make things better? Would it help anything, would it chase away the darkness that holds nothing but fear?
These things we tell people, I suppose there is some truth in it, and some lies too.
Wanting to make them feel better. Realizing there were good things that are sometimes missed. And that's okay.

Do you miss me?
I suppose no one ever replies with such honesty. Or maybe we always miss someone. Anyone. Or everyone.

Words are empty, maybe that's true. But they hold all these fears. They awaken them, bring them out from their corners and into my space.
Wishing for clean slates. Wanting to read you like an open book.
When night turns to day, I have stayed up, fighting the dark. And I think I've won again, I think it's all back inside of me, and I can keep it there for another little while. Maybe someday the cage will be time-proof.

We close our eyes for a moment, I trace your skin and imagine that no one ever felt like this before.
No one ever did. And everyone did.


I can see you so clearly sometimes, and it breaks my heart.
Your pretending, my disappointment.
I know what you tell them.
You'll never be happy, you are never happy, you want to run away.
I want the truth from you, but we probably wouldn't survive it.

I wish you could be happy. And I wish I knew you.