I wanted to edge closer...

... But too close to the fire, and I'd burn myself.

I saw a fire tonight and I wanted to edge closer. I was denied the meek pleasure. I feel sad. I wanted it.
To lift me up, stretch me, all until my bones cracked and released.

Lethargy has tied me down to something cold. I try to break free, but it takes a lot of effort. The month of February bought with itself, a chillness as cold as a slab of ice against ones palm. Cold, but numbing, so you don't really feel any pain.

Things happened. And they didn't happen out of the blue. I was very much prepared. I knew what ifs, understood the why's, and was prepared. It was easy; going through them.

I had reached a point though, where I couldn't really understand the reasons of what was around me. I question things. And this month, I've questioned things back to back. It was very tiring. I had questions that had no easy answers.

So a few hours back, when I saw the Holika away from a mile, I wished to edge closer to it. I needed the fire. It burned a beautiful bright.

I would've liked to feel the warmness spread across me, all throughout my body.
Till my muscles squeezed up, eyes watered; cleansed. Till the heat would make a sprint, on over my skin, and my skin, with goosebumps then, submitting in pure ecstasy.

I needed it.

I wrote the above as I was dragged away from the fire. Dragged by my own weariness. My weakness. I was ill, well. Had to visit the doctor.

I crossed my fingers as I left the place, hoping for the fire to remain alive until I returned. Thankfully, it did. And I could witness it as it burnt off into gold, black, its charred self.

I've been wanting to do so many things, but I'm failing when it comes to prioritizing. There's something very important missing from the picture. Is it that I seek a voice that would enjoy hearing me out? I need a push. I look into the mirror. And that woman's all that I need.

Hear me out? She's listening.
Just gotta lift myself up.

I heaved a heavy sigh as I left the fire. It was dying, but I felt strong again.
Such little things. They do matter a lot.

Strained tunes.

Playing the guitar is fun. It's seldom a hobby for someone who loves the instrument, I'm sure they'd consider it a passion instead. I think it's one of the most beautiful instrument ever. You can create your own song, and give your voice it's own background music.

I think I get way too depressed when I play the guitar sometimes.
I find a strange metaphor associated with it.
The fact that I'm trying to sing, wanting someone to hear me out, in a controlled way, so as to make the song seem nice, feels fake.

I'd much rather play off tune, so long as I like what I've got to say. If that's all what I want to say. Does it have to sound good?

I think it does. I think polishing your skills, voice, communication, everything, it's important. But it feels kind of wrong, and terrible. Of how my broken ways, song, or tune, won't be accepted. I'd still try to play the song properly, that's the only choice I have.

It'd be so much better if I'd accept the way I am, and be proud of what I'm learning, and the good ways in which I'm changing.

Things seem so confusing at times. I honestly can't make sense of whatever it is that is happening. I'd try and play more, but I'd feel so lost. Can't be better unless I'm calm while practising, can I?
Still hope to get better though. But I think it should be only for myself.

Be a better person, sing a better song, so that I personally, can be proud of myself. Yes. I guess I'd be driven forth without much depression if I keep that in mind. I'd enjoy the music more that way.

Words were a cigarette.

Tangled with the green umbrella.

I hear laughter, ill at ease.

Was that me? I wonder in awe.

Grey clothes. A smoke in hand.

Words are smoke, such a charm.

Thoughts trying way too hard.

At ease and calm, but the chaos hidden.

They have found a place to grow.

But no, it seems wrong.

Anger in the ashes.

The smoke's all air now.

Futile and basking in the hit that remains.

Knowing well, that it's not going to last.

Charred lungs and a moment gone.

Maybe it was worth it.

Change, it's a constant.

But my thought's, they're a blunder.

Break somthing, the inner voice chants.

Burn the lighter itself.

Wish it was possible.

Atleast I know that smoking is injurious to health.

Guess it's all for the best.

I throw the cigerette butt onto the ground.

Sparks fly.

Wish I could save it.

I stare at it for a while.

And then, I step on it.

I killed the machine.

Something way too powerful at work here.

So, all my life, I’ve had these tiny theories of mine that I’ve developed. Theories that try too hard to make sense of basic questions that begins with what, how, why, etc. I guess everyone has a few of them, questions and theories we abide by.
And it’s all natural for us to grow onto them, and also, allowing those theories to grow up as well, like a tree, free to move up towards the light, or far beneath the soil, in all possible directions, twirling, unrolling, realising.

The point is, I really feel tired of this, these days. Tired of developing theories. Sometimes, I have a feeling, that there’s just something much more powerful at work here. That despite me formulating my stupid theories, this powerful work, that goes about unseen, works its own charm, revealing a world that’s perfectly balanced, but also, incredibly dark and beautiful.

What’s the point of trying to understand something that I’m much too small to comprehend?
Things keep getting weirder by the second. I might be losing onto my childlike innocence, but I’d struggle to be the kid that I am, deep inside, inquisitive, and curious. Growing up, things seem much more complicated now. And they are just getting more and more complicated. 

I wonder if I should try to make sense of all of this, or just simply, let go, and enjoy everything that ever is. It’s really beautiful. All of this.

Biblical - Biffy Clyro
Skylight - Biffy Clyro
Stars And Shites - Biffy Clyro
Many Off Horror - Biffy Clyro
No I’m Not Down - Biffy Clyro

Abstract plans.

I really don't know why I'm not wanting to have a fixed story anymore. Thing's are getting all abstract around me. And I don't mind it. Maybe I'm already looking forward to the December holidays. The fact that I'm writing again though, it's reaffirming. So what if it's not in a hand held journal.

There are many things to say, sing, listen to, to try and understand, to be happy about, to be thankful about, to be stressed about, to be worried about, to not be worried about, there's just too much to exist. So letting it all just be seems like an easy option. I wonder if this easy way out is the right thing to do though. What if I, just push myself slightly? Forward to the things that I could do or achieve, or think that might work? Little concepts that keep popping up in my mind. Maybe I'd be able to help others with it all? And idea is good, an idea could be great, but it's of absolutely no use if it is born, and it dies, having accomplished absolutely nothing. Ideas do take work.

Perhaps that's why I wait for December. Because I'd be able to make things again. Build things again. Including myself! Oh. Just realised that the last December had been pretty sweet as well. Quite a turning point in my life. And it did take a certain amount of handwork, and a lot of brainstorming. I like the way I talk logically sometimes. It almost frightens me. Engineering ain't too bad. Fuck the ones who're trying to scare you away. Engineering is a need.

There's a picture in my head. I want the best for it, and I shall work to make it happen. Sometimes, all you have to do, is just, give yourself a push, and hope for the best. You're good enough. Chances are that you'll be rewarded with something you were expecting, but maybe, something better as well. I can hope for myself, at least.

Tests torment me. Exams are condescending. But I'll have to work hard. And around these days of trouble, there would be happy days. Days I look forward to. And come December, I'll be free to rethink over my wishes and dreams. Like how a little part of me would still want to excel at playing the guitar. Just a little bit please. Or how I'd like to play the drums. Or how I'd love to begin swimming again. Comic con's almost here too.

More movies. TV shows. Gigs.
And countless opportunities to just, escape.


Hey You - Pink Floyd
Is There Anybody Out There - Pink Floyd
Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd
Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin