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BY ryan d

04/01 Direct Link
It is night in the city. All around me, people are walking, preoccupied with their own lives. They pass barely inches from where I stand; yet a breath between us could be miles. The street is filled with people, and each one of them alone. There's something exquisitely human about this urban landscape - something sad and something beautiful about being in the same space as thousands of other individuals dreaming; wanting; loving; living. There is life all around me - cold and silent - but life nonetheless. Tantalizing; untouchable; emotions that aren't mine yet rush so freely through me. I am alive.
04/02 Direct Link
A memory, so soft I had almost forgotten it. I could get back there, to those white walls and the quiet. Caught up in the denim softness of her shoulder, lost in a breath of her hair. Drowsing in her life, rising and falling beneath my cheek. There were no sunsets in that moment - no darkened rains, no sprawling skies - only silence. And in that silence, a simplicity I haven't experienced since. I was tired and the world was wrecked upon my shoulders, but none of that mattered, because she was there and she was everything and it was forever.
04/03 Direct Link
At half past four, the storm broke - the dark sky echoing with thunder and hints of lightning. Rain fell afresh upon the silent city streets. I was on my way home after a long day, and had to run. Elsewhere - what? Did a girl in a maroon sweater look up from a textbook as the rain began to pour outside her classroom window? Maybe, half-asleep in her room, she barely noticed at all, merely noting a colder change in the air. Or perhaps, like me, she found herself caught outside in the freezing rain - and remembered another time.
04/04 Direct Link
Lately, I feel like I've lost something that I can't remember. I'm not entirely sure of what I'm looking for - big or small, tangible or otherwise - but I can't seem to find it no matter how hard I try. I've heard stories of men who lose their limbs and complain of aches in arms or legs that are no longer there. Much in the same way, I keep reaching for something - someone - I know should be there, but isn't. And I feel like I'm aching in places that don't exist. Like I'm missing someone who doesn't exist.
04/05 Direct Link
One in the morning, and the world is sleeping. This day is over; I am borrowing yet another hour of wakefulness from tomorrow. Tomorrow. Promises of a new beginning, a chance to change things. But morning passes into the afternoon, and then into evening; another day spent in mediocrity. I am living my life on the wings of the unrealistic - riding on pretty words and drawings in black ink. How can I feel so much from so little? I know there's something more to this, something different, something sublime. I need so badly to prove to myself that I'm alive.
04/06 Direct Link
Dusk was approaching, and the waves were gold and rose with the reflection of the setting sun. Paddle in hand, she stood on the shore and sung softly to herself.

Touch the wind / Catch my love as it goes sailing / Touch the wind / I'll be close to you / I'll be easy to find / On the winds of the morning I'll come sailing / I'll be easy to find / And I'll be close to you.

Not two steps behind her, I paused in my cleaning of the boat and watched her sing. And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.

04/07 Direct Link
I am in my element. Everything is a whirl, and I say all the right things. This doesn't happen often - usually only during caffeine-induced overwakefulness - but when it does, I am invincible. All my little fears and worries, all my insecurities - they are nothing. I am in the sky, and I am beside her, and she is human. Infinity within reach; forever bright before me. Are these delusions that I drift into, or am I breaking into reality? Lucid dreaming, somewhere beyond traces of burnout that haunt me days afterward. I am everything and I am nothing. I am gone.
04/08 Direct Link
"Tell me if it hurts, kay?"I barely get out a nod. She's so close we're sharing the same breath, and yet so distant in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with distance. Closing my eyes, though, I can pretend this is something other than what it is; that the trace of her fingers on my face is more than a functional touch. How often does one close one's eyes and submit? A different kind of beauty, then - no tender words or soft looks - just pure human comfort. Doesn't have to be a sunset to watch it.
04/09 Direct Link
She is standing at the edge of the water, damp hair falling over her preoccupied eyes. Everything about her - the way she stands, the way she moves - is laced with grace and heartbreak. She... is... untouchable. Not by the heat of the day that surrounds her, not by the everyday dullness of everything around her. And I know that even if I were to know her, even if I were to have her - it would never be enough. I would have to be her - then maybe everything she did would seem as mundane to me as they are to her.
04/10 Direct Link
We have a story between us, you and I. Coming and going, midway between fantasy and frivolity. Two universes, colliding and drawing away, like butterflies dancing on the breeze. We can't get away, you see. No farewell is forever, especially in a place like this. There are always second chances, always more breaks at that something greater. Because, after all, we still have many more chapters to write before we reach the end of our story. Living from minute to minute, day to day, year to year; life's a long while, even if we don't have a lot of time.
04/11 Direct Link
The trees were in bloom today. I saw them from across the road on my way home. Astonishing splashes of lilac, signs of a spring I never knew existed on this island. They speak to me of new beginnings, of fresh starts and little April showers. Everywhere around me, people are coming alive - making new friends, falling in like. I see them from across the road on my way home. They rise and fall together, feelings changing like the breeze. Days like this, though, I find myself alone, imagining better days. Quiet days of stairsteps and pale purple blossoms.
04/12 Direct Link
Another night at the edge of nowhere, and the air is alive with memories. A year, yet thoughts of her are still everywhere, all the way back to the two of us. And I feel so sad, because we never really saw one another. I was always staring through her at someone I thought could save a life, and she was always staring through me at someone she thought would always be there. And we were both so empty and we both wanted so much - that we drowned ourselves in our mutual hunger, trying to find forever in another.
04/13 Direct Link
Legends would have us believe that finding the perfect person is easy. Look at Romeo and Juliet. A chance meeting, a whirlwind romance, and a love story to last eternity. Closer to reality but not quite there is the story of the Butterfly Lovers - getting to know someone for three years before finding out he's actually a woman, but falling in love nonetheless. Because, more often than not, love isn't about social stigma or murderous cousin-in-laws. It's about learning to live with an imperfect partner who is probably about as fucked up as you are - and loving them for it.
04/14 Direct Link
And this is so, years from now, you'll look back and wish you'd noticed me. This is so you'll regret every single time you looked away from my eyes. This is to all the nights of self-loathing and all the clever words you never heard. This is because you make me hate myself and everything around me. This is to the burning stupidity of teenage post-angst and the futility of self-awareness. This is so you know that I would have given anything for a shard of genuine kindness from you. And I hope you die. I hope we both die.
04/15 Direct Link
Favourite foods: steaming hot Hainanese chicken rice - boneless, with lots of chilli; two plain roti pratas with thick curry and bread to wipe the curry bowl clean; ice-cold Milo, sweet but not overly so; kaya toast dripping a little and toasted to just the right crispness; hot coffee that burns my tongue because I'm too impatient to wait, with condensed milk I have to stir; instant noodles cooking in a cup as I wait outside a convenience store at three in the morning; frozen strawberries that I don't really care for but eat anyway because they remind me of her.
04/16 Direct Link
That's it, then. Two years of stupid conversations, but I enjoyed every moment of them. We never really did have anything in common, after all - everything between us was chance and force of will. You're the only girl I've ever told I loved. And I did, and I still do, in a way. I tried so hard to find you beneath the fangirlisms and shades of pink, but I never could break through. Maybe that's all there ever was. Still, it's a good note to end on - a little awkward, a little distant - but nonetheless a good one. Take care.
04/17 Direct Link
She's sad, small, sweet, so delicate. The night rides on silently past on either side, lonely and dark. Softly, she sleeps - safe and close to the window. I am so close to her; so near I can feel the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathes. And I know that this is eternity, but eternity will never be enough for me. Moments from now, she will wake, and she will live, and she will love and be loved. This night will never come again. But, for now, I can close my eyes - and watch her sleep.
04/18 Direct Link
Sometimes I think that this is the best it will ever get - falling asleep in classes, doodling in lectures, watching sports matches, attending concerts, laughing with friends. But we've been coming and going and it doesn't get us anywhere. Because in between the rows of lockers and faded laughter are whispers of solitude - we misunderstand the things that we long for and we long for the tenderness we can't find and we can't find the words to say at the right times to make each other laugh. And we drown out our imperfections and our desires in those of others-
04/19 Direct Link
The breeze is so much stronger out here, and the sea is infinite. Watching planes fly so close overhead, I can wonder about hundreds of people coming and going, and whether they know what they're missing down here on land. They are rushing, scrambling, desperate to find time for all the things they want or think they need to do. Like the talking skull said, we're supposed to be too late for some things. Because, in the end, everything passes, and it is good that everything passes. It's okay to forget everything, just for this moment, and enjoy the breeze.
04/20 Direct Link
Four months later, I am still staring at her shoes. I still haven't picked up the courage to look at her in the face, but I have learnt a lot about her footwear habits. She used to wear white Nike shoes with a giant red tick; now they are grey with magenta. Sports shoes, naturally, because she's that type of girl - the kind that makes me painfully self-conscious enough to have to resort to staring at shoes. Oh yeah; my city's on fire. It's quite bad, but we're okay. After all, everything is perfect if I want it to be.
04/21 Direct Link
The music is deafening but we are all feeding on it. The lyrics are charged; the music is deafening. Everyone is jumping around me and I can't think straight. This feels... complete. Is this what those so-called born-again believers feel when they get high on the music? If spirituality is raising hands and swaying to the rhythm, I may have just found the heart of worship. Blinking lights and a symphony of sound. Caught up in the refrain, I turn and shout something to someone I don't know. She is so beautiful, but I cannot hear her over the music.
04/22 Direct Link
The night is black and lonely and cold, but no one can see it for the broken lights. Some sort of window to my right, and past that a connection that I never saw and I never could break. Not even a look or a word. I have been a fool. Stupid. I should be used to this by now, but every time it still feels like orange juice after brushing my teeth. This feeling is so strong that I feel I should cry or laugh; but I am too old to cry, and it hurts too much to laugh.
04/23 Direct Link
She dances swiftly, in the crowd. Twirling in awkward gracefulness; now sinking low, now rising high again to move to the left. I couldn't tear my eyes away if I wanted to. She was always quiet but always there, shying away from anything louder than a lemon. She looks so fragile I could shatter her if I only stared hard enough. But she is staring right on through, intense and beautiful in her intensity, a crimson butterfly with crumpled wings that catch the air and soar her up to places she never could imagine, but nonetheless places where she belongs.
04/24 Direct Link
This time last year, you said that you would like to remember and be happy, to remember being happy. Moments of silent warmth, and fishscale clouds in a starless sky. Pretty days that never really did last past those soft early months of April and May. I am sorry, you know. For all the times that you were happy and I wasn't and how that wasn't enough for me. For all the times I walked away, betraying two hearts in doing so. Because, I guess, love isn't sacrifice. Love is something to be sacrificed. You sacrifice love for happiness sometimes.
04/25 Direct Link
My most vivid memories of my mother are of when I was still a young child. There was a time she cut up scotch tape in little crescents which she stuck on my eyelids, hoping I would grow double eyelids. My father scolded her for that. She used to love craftwork - cross-stitching, gift-wrapping - and our house was filled with her works. When I got older, she just stopped. Recently, though, she's taken up knitting. She used to pride herself on her perfect eyesight - it pains me now to see her knitting while wearing reading glasses. My mother is getting old.
04/26 Direct Link
Where has my life gone? Reading through my old journal entries, I can find a strange kind of verve in the way I wrote - my grades were still bad and I was still falling in and out of love, but somehow I was driven to write, and write like I've never written since. But that was years ago, and those pages have faded. Everything seems to have faded since those days, now that I think about it - my friendships, my writing, the old posters I have around my room. I feel like I've burnt out the prime of my life.
04/27 Direct Link
I can see the night sky from here; sprawling overhead, lonely and dark. All around me are little things that remind me I am this far from eternity. Lime sherbet is the colour of those little elastic bands that you use to tie up your hair. Mango is the colour of the stage lights on your face when you're around, proving the universe wrong. You're my ice-cream girl - sweet, but cold. Beauty beyond my reach - Lucy is in the sky with diamonds, and she's not coming back down. Leaning back, the concrete feels a little cold. And lonely. And hopeless.
04/28 Direct Link
Sunset. The rains have gone, and the sky is the palest of golds. The dark purple clouds haven't quite cleared yet, merging beautifully with the brilliant hues of gold and rose. It is almost worth the hours of freezing cold rain just to see this, and I breathe it all in, enjoying the sight. Something about the soft-dying day brings about a sense of life and renewal, and I feel more alive than I've been for a very long time. Simple and clean; quiet and beautiful. Now is forever, and whatever lies beyond this moment is a little later on.
04/29 Direct Link
There's something epic about this - a cloudy day, mists are rolling across the sea, and the dark water parting before us. A warship into battle, manned by the weariness of fifty men? Or two unlikely heroes, sailing into the cold realms of the unknown? Perhaps Charon, ferrying the newly dead across the river of sorrow? The boat cuts through the water like a knife, silent but for the occasional splash of oar on water. On a day like this, one can imagine a world in which legends were born - it is not all that different from our own, after all.
04/30 Direct Link
It's been a stormy month. Late afternoons of thunder and lightning and cold days curled up indoors. Evenings out at sea watching the darkened sky overhead. Pages upon pages of hastily-scrawled words. April has been reflective; a welcoming of changes and a renewal of old habits. I have taken up writing again, though I'm still not very good at it. Coffee still doesn't do anything to keep me awake in class. Life is not all good, but it is not really all that bad either. I could write more. But the words are all blurred together, and it's getting dark.