When I ready myself to sleep, I actually prepare to race with thoughts, endless. However, said musings are finite, as I think about the end. Of us. So you see, as I count sheep, I am not aiming for sleep but distracting myself from the things I crave to think – and to feel and to relive and to experience with you. Again. Again. Once more. I try to fight such wanderings of my mind, pondering instead on what to do when I wake up – assuming I will hit slumberland. Assuming, too, that I will still open my eyes, though that’s a pleasing outcome. Sometimes I play scenarios in my head, happy ones or sad, whichever I deem perfect to dance with the weather. Oft, I let my mind loose and play with my stream of consciousness – I enjoy this even as it might lead to tears. It doesn’t matter as they will cleanse my eyes – and thoughts. I think of remnants, anyway. I dwell. I think of you. I cry. I think of us. I remain mum. So silent that lucid dreaming will start its spectacle. My eyelids twitch and I will fall asleep. No dreams but you’re there. You are not a dream now. But always there. In my mind. Out of it. A phenomenon. A noumenon. I sleep but there is no rest.
April ended with a storm
December trembled in my hands
As its breeze announces its return:
The nights are longer,
So long it scares the sun.
I trace the lines of my palms
Where yore is etched, and I remain there;
I long for many Mays of summer,
Foggy Februaries and Septembers of singsongs.
It was right to let go of seasons, however sordid the longingness;
April ended with a storm, calm but forceful,
And as the flood anchors me, I close my eyes,
Say goodbye to many moons, many moments, many memories.
I wake up and it’s just November
No ghosts and ghouls parading,
Only sorrowful sunshines and bleak moonlights;
I trace the future of my hands and I drown back to where I blossomed.
Tonight, I will fly
And reach the brightest star
That has been a guiding light
For those like me: a sorrowed soul.
I will cough up the clouds
That will take me there
And use your angel wings
To thrust me away from the soil.
As the cloud dissipates,
The wings will shed its feathers;
Gravity will do its work
And I will fall.
As the earth slowly pulls me,
I look at the shining star
Knowing it has been long gone,
A reminder of multitudes.
I close my eyes while I plunge
Back into the place where I belong.
I hate to exist here,
I long to float, to reach that remnant.