lucas-xx

[lucas-xx]

—of conversations with the wall

[lucas-xx]

—of conversations with the wall

[lucas-xx]

— Fyodor Dostoevsky (via lunamonchtuna)

[lucas-xx]

— Mieko Kawakami, from Heaven (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[lucas-xx]

it sits on your shoulder. at first, it feels like a hand with a firm grip on your left shoulder that you can brush off easily when you need to attend to the matters at hand.

it was like that, at first, like a hand.

i brushed it off, day by day, and i thought i was easily laying it aside, until i looked into the mirror and saw that it had grown another hand. it was latched in my other arm like a sleeve, and it has been the one that's controlling my arm's movement.

i haven't been really putting it off, after all. maybe that is why my steps have grown so heavy these days.

the following weeks, it finally covered both of my arms. they were pitch black now. and i have grown extremely pale in comparison. it's like a snake that constricted all the blood flow from my limbs from then on. i couldn't feel my arms anymore, but it moved, nevertheless. it attended to matters at hand. i can see it moving, but all the space where its touch must land, they turn to ash.

a week later, it got to my legs. maybe that is why i felt like i wasn't moving at all despite seeing my body in different places.

my skin has grown even paler this time around. and my eyes screamed in a slow burning death that everyone is blind to.

however, they hear my voice.

my voice. goodness, my voice. it has grown coarse throughout time. it was constricted, my neck, and it has turned black, too. i forgot what my melody sounded like before this pitch black entity covered my limbs. the hymns by which my movements dance into became monotonous wails of plead for mercy that reaches the hearts of others like a spear that was made to only tear things apart.

but i was crying for help. this entity turned every flower, every leaf, every sprout of life into vines filled with thorns that everything i touch end up being filled with holes too big and painful for both me and the world.

and now it has spread all throughout my body, plagued both my mind and my heart and i still do not know what it is. maybe, i do. i just can't face it. but how would i face it when all i see when i look in the mirror is a void - a vastness of emptiness that were once a kingdom of impossibilities being turned into reality?

where did it come from? what is it?

what have i done wrong?

—of conversations with the wall.

[lucas-xx]

my heart was pinned down like a hostage, chained by the neck and every limb that kept clawing its way out towards the abyss of comfort. it was chained because the mind knew better about that abyss of comfort. it was a grey that wielded the double-edged sword that pierced right through the heart.

it was war. it was hell. my body begged for my mind and my heart to synchronize and agree on a single path. as it was begging, it laid still under the covers, with my knuckles turning white for being tightly shut, clutching my chest in a weak surrender to the pain that washed over the entirety of me.

i couldn't bring myself to tell him because my heart couldn't bring itself to tell my mind that i—

i was so happy that he held me. i was so happy that he did.

even my tears were held hostage by my mind right now—my heart weeps in joy but my face, expressionless and dead.

all i know is that i fought the wrong war and won the wrong battle when even my mind keeps finding itself back to the memory of our kiss. nothing about the kiss felt like a spell—you know, the kind that urges you to be somewhere or something. it was a kiss that takes you to where the kiss is happening: to the both of us. to him. it was a kiss that said 'we're here, frozen in the moment that will forever exist, even if time passes.' it was a kiss where our lips were right where they belong.

or at least, it's where my lips truly belong.

there was nothing but stillness. in that fragment of time where he wasn't in mine and i wasn't in his, the world was still. i could hear everything clearly, and i was feeling all the steps i took in every space i move in and occupy. my body felt like it floated.

but nothing was ever louder than the pounding of my heart. of course it would beg for him. it always will.

then i continued hanging the laundry, waiting for what's next.

[lucas-xx]

[lucas-xx]

probable regrets

Do you know that feeling when your heart breaks so much—too much—that your body immediately just goes numb? There is no other way to grasp that fleeting feeling, but you chase it either way, or else you won't feel human.

He said he hopes I find love in my decisions. How do I tell him that I can't turn to love anymore?

Months ago, if I had written that very sentence before this, I would have gone bawling my eyes out because it was so painful to what was once my heart. I know there is something wrong with me. Perhaps practicality has eaten up my entire heart so that I can no longer squeeze in an ounce of a dream.

I cannot turn to love anymore because love has done nothing but betray me. Maybe this is just pain speaking, but whenever I look back, I see nothing but how painful it has been to love and be loved. I carry so much love in my heart, and I wish to just love life, but loving life has exactly been what's keeping me from continuing to love it.

How do I tell him that my dreams have now turned around?

That I don't wish to be a mother anymore.

That I don't want to marry.

That every single thing that made me the very person he once loved has now turned inside out—and that my heart is now nothing but a goo of dark, cynical ideologies that are being constantly proven right by the slightest feelings of disappointment that I experience every damn day.

How do I tell him I hold nothing but fear in my heart? I fear the world outside. I fear the world within me. I fear the fact that I'll never belong to anyone or to anything. I fear that I was really never meant for this world.

I really wanna fucking kill myself.

[lucas-xx]

As you watch it wither,

Pray to the gods in the heavens above to keep you warm in the face of the snowstorms—snowstorms too strong and endless that made the home feel like a wall-less shelter of sand whose grains pool at your throat, gnawing on every flesh.

Pray for the strength of your seemingly limbless body for it to stand up, move, and swim in the ocean of its own blood, sweat, and tears—all of which that can only be brought into existence in the eyes of others through the muttering of curses by the body's mad, tainted tongue.

Pray for the miracle of a mirror that changes the trajectory of the shadows where your soul is encased into a light that proves the existence of a life that once came from you. Should it shatter into a thousand pieces as it draws nearer and nearer to your void—let it, for the shadow would need all shades of light to bathe into.

Pray for the hands of love from the heavens above to pull you up from the mud of your own demons, whose faces are named after every suffering your eyes remained wide open to, both in the fulfillment of your virtuous heart and against your eyes' own volition.

Pray for the patience to make your soul wait for the blooming of the nelumbo nucifera in the eternal stillness of the lake frozen in the coldest snowstorms—snowstorms that may turn into calm breezes of breath in your lungs and caress on your skin if you keep praying.

[lucas-xx]

march 21, 2024

14:22

just woke up. slept in 'til past 2 in the afternoon. no appetite at all. head hurts as fuck.

[lucas-xx]

[lucas-xx]

left in the tags.

[lucas-xx]

...like, it's all wrapped up together. twist and turns and tangles. twist and turns and tangles. you can't pin down which is wrong anymore. which one is right? what does right feel? maybe it felt right because at first, a part of us were completed? until we saw the other puzzle pieces. the puzzle pieces that show we're from different worlds that can never be one. like oil and water. precisely like oil and water. it's immensely beautiful seeing them inside a lava lamp, creating mesmerizing figures underneath different lights, but that's only what they're actually useful for. eye candy. figures. images to be admired. nothing else. tell me, what else are they useful for?

[lucas-xx]

Shadows are at their thickest under the brightest of the light. One may look behind them to see the sharpest formulation of their curves, crevices, and shapes and see all the movement that its entirety will mirror from the body to which it belongs. Along with it comes the possible dawning of a realization of the amount of space they take under the intense glares of luminescence, as well as this very phenomenon's embedding into their essence's hearts.

In the spirit of a Being's creative pursuit, Shadows are a tool of fortune in telling and retelling the adventures that the Being's body played, which is told to the space upon which the Shadow lays. In the stillness of the Being, one will stare into its Shadow only for one to see how the flower in front bends down sorrowfully. It bends because the sun's rays, parried by the Being's body, failed to reach its petals. And the Shadow's owner may see it as an act of unwillful deprivation enacted by its mere presence. Eventually, as the body moves, the eyes can never once again turn blind against the images of flowers and plants and everything bright in the face of life bending downwards. Jolly skipping over green grasses will slowly turn into steps upon eggshells. Limbs flowing freely with the gush of the breeze will be bound close by fear and guilt. The head held high in facing the facets of reality's differences is now cast down to the truth of contempt felt by taking space.

'A damnation. An abomination. The epitome of error in Creation,' the Shadow of Being will perceive itself as, until a lone puny beast lies underneath the Shadow for a rest from the sun's heat and radiance. For a moment's whim, the Shadow has become the solace of a new identity - a stark contrast of significance from what was preconceived. Titillating notions of curiosity and confusion disrupted the balance of the scorn that settled itself deep within the heart that constantly interprets the world—the world that had just seemed to have grown a little bit bigger after the encounter. The very entity that withheld light from those who took life from it is also a haven for those weary of the light that also diminishes life. 'Such an astonishing paradox!'

And the world had grown even more so when one met a fellow Being whose Shadow swayed along in telling and retelling adventures. In quick strides, the slow dance of two Beings intertwined. In what felt like an impeccable interpolation of two destinies's ends, the waltz of two Beings' feet explored and created beats, tempos, and melodies that passionately laced each of the Beings' clashes, which are now created and played by the Shadows of two Beings sharing and uniting the spaces from where they're are eternally bound.

Images upon images, they formed stories from their Shadows, holding each other's hands. Sometimes, it's each other's necks. Some days, they'd go up to the top of the hill and play upon a bed of daisies. Crowns will be made out of them, and a coronation will be held. Together, side by side, they'd stand on the edge and see the world from up there, with their Shadows resting upon the ground growing larger the deeper the slope gets. Backs against each other, they'd watch both ends of the world be filled with their Shadow without a single care about which being suffers and which finds solace underneath the existence of their shade. It is in these moments that their reign feels like the only thing that matters in the world.

But on some days, they'll be bathed in daylight as their Shadows tightly hold one another's limbs on a bed of roses filled with unforgiving thorns. And, they'll dance. They'd dance the waltz of anger and torment and pride and sadness and fear, with each step evoking a yelp or a scream from them for the scratches of the thorns so ruthless upon their feet were almost unbearable if it weren't for the petals raining over them as they move with painful grace.

In the evening and in all the evenings, underneath the moon's lucent glow and in the cradling of the night's cool breeze, there the Beings lie still. They'd be unstirred along with the world within their embrace or with just their hand holding onto each other. Both Shadows are caged within both Bodies, and not a thought about existence's essence and how it's forged upon the earth will matter during that moment. Everything under the moon is sound asleep, and everything breathes out the life of the day about to pass. Everything is still, and everything is quiet. Everything wouldn't matter but the warmth that each of the Being's bodies emanates—the warmth they feel from each other. And with that thought, they would smile.

Because it is in those moments that they'd feel alive and at peace with just their Bodies. To feel the warmth of an existence so bare beside you during the night feels like the epitome of a life free from the constant demand of placing your Shadow properly in a world filled with all shades of grey. 'By simply being there as I sleep, the justification that my beating heart needs has been given,' both Beings whisper, hoping that the wind would carry their words to each other's ears.

-

The Sun is eternally unforgiving when we wish for ourselves to cease and always merciful when we're grateful for the Shadows we emit on the grounds of this world. Its shining light cast upon us is nothing but a projector lighted against a canvas waiting to be filled with stories of meaning and virtue and the complete lack of it. Underneath the vastness of it all, we are nothing but Beings emanating our Shadows, along with other Beings emanating their own Shadows. What is right, wrong, what is proper, what isn't, what is unsightly, what is pleasant, and all of it basking underneath the Sun's rays turns grey under the Moon.

[lucas-xx]

Ignorance is bliss, they said, but I've always despised mine. It's such a pivotal point of change to yearn it back. But of what facet am I extremely knowledgeable about, exactly, aside from my own head? None. Mere ticking seconds are yet to be experienced, which implies the abundance of ignorance, yet I've got no space left for it because deep within me, time has stopped.

[lucas-xx]

Everybody talks about how amazing love is. Everybody knows how it makes your soul soar through the highest of transcendances an individual can ever reach. It's always about how divine it feels—that instant connection, that magical click of two different individuals in a world of 7 billion random chances. It's surreal, isn't it?

But nobody talks about when that click starts to hurt the most. Almost nobody talks about how afraid it makes you feel. Love does give us courage, but it also embeds in us the biggest of fears that, perhaps, nobody is courageous enough to admit to themselves.

...like the fear of seeing the look of disappointment in your Love's eyes when it meets yours. The fear of seeing their worn out souls because of the pain and challenges that comes along with carrying the relationship. Do you know the fear of being vulnerable? Have you met that fear of being so broken in front of your Love that even your Love looks at you so helplessly? There's the fear of not being enough, too. And the fear of becoming too much. Nobody talks about how often it makes you feel like shit about yourself, just as much as how it makes you feel like you can conquer the entire world. Finally, there's the fear of not loving your Love strongly enough that your fear of losing your Love overrides your love that also hopes for nothing but the fulfillment of the other half's heart—even if it means letting go. It'll be such a shame for your fears to win over your love.

Your Love deserves everything the world can offer—the best of everything, even if it means freedom from you, you know that for sure, and it's so easy for us to say these words in the heights of joy, but nobody talks about how painful it gets when this possibility is only a tear or a fight away from reality. Almost all of us will back out. The few who decides to sacrifice are at risk of losing their sanity for who knows how long.

Such a crazy phenomenon, this thing is. It's exactly how you know it's the real thing because all of these fears taking a tightly good grip at your heart and your neck, it can only happen if you know it's something you can lose. It can only happen if you truly gave a piece of your heart, and have let your walls down for someone. It can only happen if your heart knows that the world isn't just about you anymore. Fear and pain and suffering only exists because we're not alone. So are the antonyms of those three. And boy, does that feel nice.

—of conversations with the wall

[lucas-xx]

Something interestingly painful happens in my mind as I lay myself down every night. The inner child goes berserk and panicking, recalling all the pain and all the memories it went through. And thus, the process begins. It would see how everything might've gone right – or at least, the parts where the child could've defended herself and fought back. It sees how everything is rooted in one another – interrelated and interconnected, influencing and concurring with each other – as it manifests itself into the tiniest of details found in every whim of thought and action of the present self. Then, it would hurt. It would hurt for itself and blame the entire world for the pain it carries. Bitterness grows within, rooted deep, and for a moment's whim, the child will be embraced by coldness. Thoughts of solitude hold its heart strong until the very idea of seeing her love slip her hands flashed before her eyes.

That is when it will click. The fact that none of what she thought was actually true enough to be the basis of an entire decision that would turn her life around completely. She'd come to the realization that all of it was rooted in her fear of being looked at with eyes brimming with disappointment. She longs to be seen as a human being who's learning to walk on different kinds of paths her life will take her, not some deity trying to uphold and implement utopia in reality – she knows very well that it's already within us, so there is no need for that intricacy. She longs to be seen as an ignorant child of the world, but not of herself, no. This child longs to be forgiven for not knowing any better, and she longs to be seen for trying to be better. She longs to be seen not for how she fell but for how she stood up and tended her wounds. This is not to excuse her for causing pain, no, she admits to it. It's what she's always done.

And that's when the pain would start to flood her. Contrary to what the child intended to do, her heart begs to be with everyone and longs to be seen by everyone. She longs to be understood, just like everyone else does.

And then, a woman comes up to that child to remind her that she doesn't need the eyes of others to feel seen. She doesn't need the recognition of other people, even the people that she holds so dearly, for her to feel complete and worthy of being here.

Breathe and look in the mirror. Look at your own eyes and see through you.

No one else can ever understand the depths of that child but the child itself because no one can feel the same way, see the same thing, and hold the same value as the child's heart does. As long as the child sees itself, then she's seen. So, she doesn't need to worry that much. Stand up, keep doing what the heart is great at doing—to love. The world is out there to receive and give in its own way, too.

—of conversations with the walls