Guard Your Heart.

Guard your heart, but don't freeze it. Living life without at least the chance, the hope! of falling in love is not much of a living at all. You'll fall in love, and it might amount to nothing, but it will not be a waste. You will hurt, you will cry, you will wish it all never happened, but you'll pull through. You will learn from it, learn to live through pain, learn to love better. Let yourself love completely, don't hold back out of fear, or be self-conscious about your love. A love that is half-hearted is doomed from the very start! Love completely, or not at all. One day, someone will love you for who you are. Someone will love you for your chipped tooth, your not-perfectly-straight hair, your small breasts. The world is going to try and tell you many things, but don't listen to it, listen to me. Don't change anything about yourself just because the world tells you to.

In The Attic.

A locked chest
Keepsakes.
A catalogue of the people
Who came into your life.
Those who stayed
Those who didn't.

A trophy, a medal
Once were proudly placed
Polished, burnished.
Now unwelcome reminders
Of bygone days
Of halcyon days.
Of potential gone to waste.

An album
Out spills the musky scent of nostalgia
And faded photographs.
From the dusty confines of plastic sleeves
Which the years and endless rearrangements
Have frayed beyond repair.
Solemn faces arranged by height
Preserved forever from domestic violence
From hypodermic needles and bottled rage.

A family portrait
Seven smiling faces behind a facade of glass.
Betraying nothing of the frustration
Three hours, seventy dollars worth
Of re-shoots and tantrums.
A perfect representation
Of modern family.
Gleaming veneers
Rotting wood.

Travelers.

The occupants of buses. The travelers. Those roving, restless searchers. Who've left it all behind. The lost loves, the disappointment of parents, etc. But have they really left it all behind?

Traveling is simple. You've got clear cut objectives, destinations to work your way towards. Sure, those objectives change once every few days, but for those couple of weeks, life becomes so simple again. You look to do things out of pure interest, not with any thing like responsibility, or duty guiding your hand. Carefree, in almost every way. All you're thinking about is the present, the next two days maybe. You're not weighed down.

The traveler. The weary soul. Those lonely hearts, whether by choice or by circumstance. A kid, thousands of miles from home, one of millions of transients. Doesn't enjoy life one bit, because every dollar he saves translates into that much more food for his family.

Peace.

The tranquility of a park. Parents trying to capture as many memories as they possible can of a child who's only going to grow up much too quickly. And of themselves, what remains of their youth. The dramas of every single person who's walking by. Maybe the old man on his daily routine, aching knees and aching heart, but still he persists, day after day. The woman who finally, after weeks and weeks of drudgery and household chores and wailing kids, finds some quiet time for herself, to brace her for the next few weeks of the same demanding, consuming tasks. The professional who needs his 10 minutes cause it's the only thing keeping him sane in this crazy, crazy world. No office politics, no bickering with the wife, or the increasingly outrageous demands of his children. The punk who's considered suspiciously by everybody, who's understood by nobody. But he's looking for the same things as the rest of us here, just some peace and quiet, anything soothing in a world which offers precious little in the way of comfort. Not for the drained mother, the lost punk. The stately woman with her two adorable dogs, who gives a gracious little smile to everyone she crosses paths with. Because those two dogs are the only companions she's got, and those smiles she gets in return (if they even are) the only human contact she gets, no matter how superficial they may seem. The kid sitting on a bench, plugged into his MP3, penning his thoughts into a battered old diary. We're all so different, we're all the same. We're searching and working for what seems to be vastly different things, but really isn't all that different when you think about it. Not just a park, in schools, shopping centres, the streets. If we would only realize it.

Instead of being pulled and pushed by the world, by our emotions, into frustration and simmering rage. Pulled under into endless melancholia, sapping depression. Being angry for minutes, hours, because you were jostled rather roughly when exiting the train. Cause the auntie was being brusque with you as you ordered your morning coffee. All these small, ridiculous things! Laughable things. Stuff you wouldn't record in your diary, your blog, and yet it affected your mood for one whole day! It's not worth it, it's almost never worth it. Peace comes from within, now this I am learning!

(What it means to be alive)

When we are young, it is to fly. To test the limits of our endeavour, of our courage.

When we are older, it is to survive. To remain afloat in a world of shifting currents. It is to get by, to reach old age relatively intact, ah but what a dream!

When we are older still, it becomes an end in itself. To be alive. To feel alive. The rare occasion of visits from grandchildren, them so full of vitality you can only hope it rubs off.

(What it means to be alive)

Tapestry.

A tapestry of other people's thoughts. Something I mistook for a certain sensitivity, something I thought that I, too, possessed.

A girlish demeanour, the wide-eyed wonder with which she took in the world around her. Her soft lips, slightly parted in awe at the beauty only she could perceive.

Those same lips are not the same now. Pursed in vexation. Curled in anger.

The Real World.

We live in an odd age.
Duality of life.
Two realities: the real world and the online world.
Which is richer?
Which is more real?

Which is more permanent?
Which will stand the test of time
Which will stem the tides of time?

Where Are We Now?

"W-w-w-where are we?"

Silence greets this sudden question.

"Are we reaching yet?"

A few passengers glance backwards, wondering at the source of the interruptions.

"Hello.."

A couple of people close to the source exchange glances, silently querying whether any of them should answer.

Rachel received a little shrug of the shoulders from her co-passenger, so she thinks well, it's not just me then. It is kinda mean but.. I'm not even sure of the answer anyway, maybe someone who does will reply him.

She does not voice, even to herself, that she does not want to be the one to answer the man because then she'd be obliged to do so for the the rest of the journey, and she definitely didn't want that.

"W-w-where are we now?"

Natalie stared straight out the window. God, of all the people to sit next to me! I had to get a retard. Maybe I could pretend to fall asleep.. She closed her eyes but half-opened her right eye every once in a while to make sure he wasn't doing anything crazy. You never know what people like that could do to you, especially a woman alone like herself.

Four Letters.

What is love? Love is the feeble attempt by the English language to, in four letters, describe the indescribable. The French do it in 5 letters, the Chinese in 9 strokes,but they are all inadequate. It is impossible to describe it, only to experience it. But I will say this. Love is the single most powerful, transforming experience any one can have.

Seeker Of Solitude.

I know you. You are a seeker of solitude. I have known men like you. Who have given up on any chance at meaningful relationships. Some men use and abuse the women in their lives. You're all searching for something, a special something, but you don't know what it is.

Know this: most men like you never find what they're looking for. You know why? Because most of you who are searching, actually want to be found.

So I Am Alone.

Life is hard, but I am harder. The world is cold and mean, so I am meaner. The world will betray you. So I am alone.

He said. Come with me. Come on a journey with me.

Why?

You are my son.

No, I know my father. He's the one who taught me everything I needed to know about life. "Life is hard. The world is a cold and mean place, and it's out to get you. Trust no one, cause everyone will betray you at some point. The world is gonna lie to you, don't listen to them, listen to me."

Where is he now?

He.. he left. He told me he was coming back for me, and then he left.

He's gone. He's never coming back.