Frustrations.

Murky grey skies, a plane flew by,
Perched, a sparrow came to say hi.

Stale air, a breath of smog,
Thoughts itching, like a flea ridden dog.

The allure of a well written line, a shaky bridge for those unfocused thoughts,
Even here, even now, there’s a need to put it down before it rots.

I have an idea… sort of… kinda?
If only my mind isn’t like a Mardi Gras.

Riot, fancy, please let me draw it out,
Crows, oh just shut it you screaming lout!

A line or two, a vision it makes,
At least there’s that to let bake.

Dang this, bugger it, I call it a day,
It’s not happening, what else can I say?

#workwoes

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Infatuated.

 

in·fat·u·a·tion
noun
1.  an intense but short-lived passion or admiration for someone or something.
“he had developed an infatuation with the girl”

.

Temporary and short-lived.  Focus and intensity.

Emotion, too much emotion.

Is it bad to be infatuated too easily? All that crazy emotional roller-coaster, that physical and mental obsession that pushes the senses to an all time high. An addictive passion, a quick flirt.

I’m infatuated, with places.
Places I’ve visited, places I missed.
Places I haven’t seen, but only dreamed about in my ever-growing Pinterest board.
Places I’ve planned, only to postpone, yet again.

I’m infatuated, with food.
The aroma, the taste, the colours.
Everything that brings a plate together, a simple over-complicated pleasure.
Food is satisfaction, food is life. Food is, happiness.

I’m infatuated, with life.
The comings and goings, the who and whats.
And then there’s the why. That incurable curiosity of the unknown.
Reading, learning, thinking. Why.

And then, there’s you.

I’m infatuated, with you.
We talk of things of times way past, of what could happen soon.
That sparkle in your eye, the intrigue it caused.
Drawing me in, deeper into the vortex of emotions.

I’ve laughed and I’ve cried. The overexertion, that mental anxiety. Over-thinking, over-analysing, over-worrying
– and eventually, over-everything. Then it ends.

A quick high, a quick low.

I’ve yearned for the impossible. Infatuated with the desire to feel, say, think of things I normally never would. The pleasure of always growing, always learning, always feeling.

And we both know, the cycle will begin again with a new place, a new food, a new life and a new you.

 

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Interruption.

A sip of peppermint tea, and another scrape with a ballpoint pen.
The sharp squee of the sliding doors.
Echoes of footsteps on the wooden floor, pattering to the steady rhythm of Earth, Wind and Fire.

“…after the love has gone~”

Another scrape of pen to paper.
Across, the steady typing on a black keyboard.

An accidental upward glance, eyes met.
Confusion. Then, a smile.
Back again, pen to paper, resuming from the interruption.

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What it feels like to miss you.

It didn’t come in like a wrecking ball, nor a tsunami of emotions. It wasn’t one of those over-dramatised drunken, rainy nights, alone. There were people, lights, noise, action. Friends, laughter and food filled the room.

Yet somehow, it snucked in. Like a mangy, soggy cat with sad eyes on the aforementioned rainy night. And I, silly me, turned a blind eye thinking it was nothing.

It started with the small details – that earring that vaguely resembled an arrow, that sudden, barking laughter of amusement – right before the quiet, that silence in the storm of festivities, kicked in.

It, was there.

Gripping those memories in an unnoticed clenched fist.
Tasting the bitter bile in your throat, swallowing in vain.
Breathing through empty lungs, the occasional heartbeat skips.
Seeing flashes of colours, a unique essence, supposedly forgotten.
As the hurricane swept, memories flew. Friends, laughter and food.

WE were there. Once upon a time. We, us, in that world.

A sudden release – the hunger, the anger, the loss – this time like a wrecking ball and eventually, awareness. Ah, the sweet trigger of reality.

A sudden itch on the arm, a blast of cold air from the vent.
That heated argument in the corner of the room, the polite nods.
Feeling the needles on my soles, a dazed blink of an eye.
The recognition of frost on those summer days.

Noises, similar, but different, then and now. Friends, laughter and food.

I, am here. Now.

I still miss you, but once again, all is well.

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Edge of the Line

That moment when you realise that you’ve somehow managed to step off the edge. Again. And now you’re stuck, clinging and barely holding on. Just beyond, the sirens sing – beckoning, urging. Above and below; two parties of warring suggestions.

And you wonder, if it’s all right to let go and drop to the unknown or if it’s safer to claw your way back up.

One voice, soothing and calming. Singing of adventures unknown.
The other, firm and rational. Sharing lore from experiences past.

Your thoughts darts back and forth, a previously forgotten pulse races. One moment clinging, the next, fighting. And truth is, you’re torn.

Because you know deep inside that whichever happens, you’ll say it is okay. That you made the right choice. That it’s for the best. Yet, you’ll know – in that one shadow of your mind, the other voice remains. Reminding, wondering, encouraging. And you know you’d secretly wished you had picked the other.

Risk the climb, or let go and fall.

Dear heart, what says you?

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