when i'm fighting sleep somewhere around 3 in the morning

and thoughts like miniature angels float and defy gravity above me, almost within waking reach but only almost, only almost and they leave a faint impression of what those thoughts would be, fully formed and fertile. so I struggle to wake and push my shuffled music to a higher crescendo than before but the angels instead only lose form and only reveal reality behind their fading shapes. and as I wish for that borderline consciousness again as my music starts to fade into the background.

I think I see you there, a hazy outline, going in and out of focus, a ghost in my periphery, somewhere to my right, somewhere near enough to reach.

like moments after a dream, when you are real enough to touch and just before reality punches through that skin of longing.

it's nearly morning and i am not looking forward to anything.

just breathing, watching the window turn a shade lighter... and a shade lighter. these moments of clarity won't last and they come with a price but i take it as they come grateful enough for another perspective; even if it all comes back the same, the view from another angle gives it a fresh new layer of hope and misery in varying degrees.

then these moments pass and I am left with an added wonder to my mysteries, then go on continue on longing for something beyond songs and poetry. beyond touch and breath. hope is one of the very few things left me, and it is a terrible companion; not cold at all, though heartless among other things.

i look forward to missing you again. yes, hoping. like always.

upon going back.

The bus trudged along and I sat watching the on-board movie, and saw the silhouette of someone embracing someone in the squeeze of how it was to be saved and how it was to be found again, and I looked out the bus window a heartbeat later, burnt and almost like I was watching something that didn't feel right. something that was more closer to home than I wanted to. something more closer. perhaps something that I wanted revisited. That like a real burn it lingered and I had to look out of the window and the sun was there like a misplaced memory; strange and familiar at the same time. And warm. so warm.

But I had to return to the movie and so closed the dirty window curtains that stank of the countless trips from this place to that place and saw my reflection for a brief instant, like a glimpse of a face I haven't really seen for a long time then I was back in the cold and hurried darkness... then wondered if my mind was still there, or like that memory had also misplaced it somewhere and I was only watching on autopilot.

These trips are always too fucking long, and if the on-board movie doesn't get me, then the passing scenes outside the bus window will. there is no escape.

by god, I miss your embrace.

to absent friends and companions.

for there were slivers of life, of the lives like secrets that we shared, mostly trivial by this age, perhaps forgotten and faded; secrets not because there was something to conceal but secrets more akin to mystery, that the rest of the world could never hope to understand, those secrets that we kept like they were toys from childhood, like some bookmarks in between the pages of the books of our summers, now almost like fading fringes of a glorious dream except that that these memories persist, instead of just going away when we see our faces again, recognizing places in our faces that have been touched by time, that have been touched by our absence from each other, we ourselves ultimately surprised during those first few seconds after meeting that we can only smile and hold each other, as if for reassurance, as if in a dream, then certainty imposes itself and we find the time, however short, however brief to catch glimpses of those mysteries again, that however tangled and however far our worlds have expanded we are still given the chance to meet. hold hands. hold gazes. hold the visions of a past clearer; that for some have gone ragged and indistinct.

so mobile numbers are not quietly exchanged, business cards noisily passed around and the proximity of addresses argued like proofs that the past of some time ago have not gone quietly into the night of the irrelevant, inconsequential like discarded teabags or nail trimmings. all pointing to the realization that there was evidence of a great life from a point in our lives back then.. when they converged like branches from the same tree.

and our lives themselves were of the same tree, that in a way, in a lovely way we have grown with each other almost by reflex, however far away and however strange; having converged on a plane all of our own back then, and every time we meet after.

the morning sad.

now that early mornings are colder, it sets the chances of holding the mind tableau of longing and constant frustrations more easier. something that the heat of summer could never do. the irony. that the colder it is the more I grow emotionally warm. meaning it is more easier to pine away into reverse somnolence. a four-hour sleep seems too long sometimes. there is also the fact that my media player is working again. more fuel for the fire.

then the rains come. and I go supernova.

as I burn, I doubt if I will even leave ashes behind. ashes for the next phoenix. emotions are like that. always getting reborn and the more I change the more they stay the same. I can only embrace my pillow tighter. devoid of a central nervous system. and that skin. those eyes. and arms. only fibre and a two week old stale pillowcase. only a wish against hope, enough to push the reality to its borders like the morning light edging the dark curtain of this room, a little push and the pillow is you. a fleeting high and the hangover's a cruel bitch.

i miss these kind of mornings.

like rain.

if you ever feel the need to be loved... and sleep with a smile again.

even in this heat and there's only a tired fan to lull you to sleep.
if ever, just in case.

a little distraction once in a while.

since there are ways that summers can leave you frozen. Neglected even.
and the internet is just plain cold despite itself.

if ever, just in case.

Let me. warm you again.

like the constant ocean where I can fade out everything.

The ocean, like a friend's certain smile, that I haven't seen in a long while. This infinity where I can reach out and hold myself together, briny air and tides coming and going.
This is a feeling that I have right now, and because my mind is a little bit easier to be with.
And this is also a time again where everything's about to fall away, that you can see the seams and the threads holding them together coming apart; but the thing is, at the same time, everything seems so much clearer and it is not hard to say that after a long while it seems that this is the breather before everything goes big bang again. And time is an illusion since I don't know how long this will last. Maybe after I watch the ocean again then it would all come tumbling down.

But it will be easier to pick up the pieces.