e-phemeralmemory

[e-phemeralmemory]

Now see, here’s the funny part. When I was obsessed with him, I didn’t think of kissing him or having sex with him. Neither did I quite fancy the idea of starting a family or even being together with him. He was a great person. And when presented the chance to kiss him, I was repulsed. I was confused as to what it was up until now. 4 years later and I think i finally figured it out, I just wanted to be him. I wanted to steal his identity. I just wanted to know him more to take on this new persona I found so likeable. Now I’m starting to wonder, to all the people I used to fancy in the past, did I like them? Or did I just want to be them? It’s funny because with Tiff, I actually wanna be with her and spend time with her. Without all the picking at nice habits I wish to steal whatsoever.

[e-phemeralmemory]

I love seeing my girlfriend. I actually look forward to seeing her. Love does funny things doesn’t it.

[e-phemeralmemory]

For the first time, in a long time, I am, truly, happy.

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[e-phemeralmemory]

The worst pain; when love isn’t enough to keep too people together

[e-phemeralmemory]

Wide eyed wanderer

That’s what they called me. Though I’ve not ventured far, I hope that they’ll see. My adventures, they’re still waiting for me. I see things a little different, from all of the others. I paint on my canvas, with all of the colors. They say it looks messy, I say this is art. They try to keep me captive but I know I’m always free at heart.

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[e-phemeralmemory]

Selfish reasons;

I was afraid of change. What if bidding goodbye to him means saying farewell to my sadness. I was far too comfortable in my sadness. My sadness made me creative, it helped me write passionately. Who am I without my sadness.

[e-phemeralmemory]

Tiffany,

Is it weird? That I have half awake conversation with you right before I go to bed? It’s always, “Tiffany, I love you.” or “I love you, Tiffany, goodnight.”

[e-phemeralmemory]

Thought

Sometimes I wonder if they tell us, “we will meet again when it’s time.” Just to help ease the grieving process. There is no evidence of this. So I’m thinking, maybe they tell us this so we live our days hopeful in patience for an empty promise. But till then, I do not know.

[e-phemeralmemory]

A shared burial.

Today, I witnessed my first burial. 

She knew it was a matter of time. Even though he wasn’t physically with her, she took note of all the days that passed. She didn’t speak much of it, but then again, she doesn’t speak much at all. 

In selfish men’s eyes, a day is nothing, and a year would have been taken for granted. Unlike selfish men, she would have traded her months for a minute. She cared not for a souvenir, “a part of him is cycling through this land.” She was not a selfish man. 

The journey. - It was a rather fitful car ride. It would have gone unnoticed if the sound of traffic and grief wasn’t the only thing impregnating the entire journey. I could feel her heavy yet anxious heart from her hands that were holding onto mine. 

We got off and were greeted by two and a half dogs at the gate. 

His tiny body - He was swaddled in a little blanket, and had his own mini bouquet of flowers, they were red. He looked, at ease. And I think, despite the tears and sorrow filled hearts, they were too, at ease. 

The hole in the ground - They lowered him gently into the ground, and had pictures of them together tucked into his blanket. I think it was so that he had something to remember them by. 

It was a shared burial. 

Thank you for the wonderful time you’ve given to him. I believe that he was in your care for a reason and I know he is going to brag about the wonderful life he had to all his new friends. 

[e-phemeralmemory]

Books made unaffordable

[e-phemeralmemory]

Liar

Why do you lie to yourself? Then again, I do not blame you. I’d fall for it too if I was as good a liar as you. 

[e-phemeralmemory]

dont ruin a good today by thinking about a bad yesterday

[e-phemeralmemory]

[e-phemeralmemory]

Feeling like a big shit. Not sure why. Just do. 

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[e-phemeralmemory]

I hate you, don’t leave me.

[e-phemeralmemory]

I don’t know who I am. 

[e-phemeralmemory]

The Rotten Egg

They tell you to talk about how you feel. And then you learn to trust them, so you speak of it. They don’t believe you, they think you’re joking, they don’t take you seriously. Who would anyway? I know I wouldn’t if I were them. 

So I learn to keep it in when it really matters. No one wants to hear what I have to say anyway. I don’t blame them for my erratic behaviour, I know it’s tough. It’s a constant debate. 

“They don’t believe me.” There’s a lot of things I do that’s crazy.

I was actually upset, I think. 

Stop being so uncertain, were you angry or not. 

Answer the question. 

I don’t even know if I was angry or not. 

The egg was bad, I’ve already told you before. Your mom told you it’s fine, so you go ahead and eat it. Not everything your parents say is right. Maybe you just wanted a second voice to tell you to eat it. Because you’ve already cooked it and you were brought up not to waste. That’s not a bad thing. If you’re not sure about something, ask, search, from a foolproof, reliable source. Voodoo shit, I ask my mom about that, yin yang, google knows the basics. That’s it. You talk about wanting facts but proceed to follow “it can be eaten.” With no evidence. But then again, who knows? Maybe this egg just happened to want to float. Perfectly fine. Just happy, floaty. I’ll never know, you’ll never know. So maybe my emotions were irrelevant and I was never meant to feel anything. 

So this constant habit of just changing the entire scenario that maybe this other person was right, messes with me a lot. He/she cheated, they must have had their reasons, nothing wrong with that, put the fault somewhere else and pretend nothing happened. How sure are you that your emotions are correct, can you google it? Can you search it up? Cheating is said to be wrong but not being forgiving was also taught to be wrong. Yes they might say that it’s different, “you have to care about yourself”. But if caring about yourself is ignoring the problem and avoiding change, then why not. I don’t think that is right but if it makes you “happy” then why not. Even if this happiness isn’t real, I don’t even know if I’ve felt that before so I don’t think it really matters whether it is real or fake. 

They did something wrong, hurtful. But was I really hurt? I wish there was a device, to tell me, yes, that was wrong. You were meant to feel hurt. Now leave. Like proper, you know? 

Now I feel ridiculous for feeling weird and the fact that it all started with an egg that was eaten.