sometimes I feel like I can reach out, and slide my hand through your forehead, and draw out your thoughts and what you're feeling and thinking.

you and I have secrets we never tell anyone. you were completely surprised when you realised I was like that- like that side of you you tried to keep hidden. but it showed anyway; for you to be the way you are, that side of you had to have existed- and it did. it does.

you're plain pure passion, its personification, manifestation, more than anyone I have ever known. but be careful- others know this too.

I think it all boils down to self-expectation. you see, I'm like this: I react strongly, and it's only later in retrospect that I realise exactly why I was so upset.

the last time, it was because I expected myself to be able to read people, like I expect others to be able to read me. and that I completely missed the explanation completely ate at me, even though I really shouldn't have been able to figure things out. but I should have known, especially since I'd seen your pattern of hide-and-ignore when you used it on others. I should have.

I suddenly violently, violently hate the idea of ceteris paribus. because all things do not remain the same. things never remain the same. it's incredibly foolish to believe that they do. it's a dangerous assumption to make, because it leads you to lower your guard, become unprepared. you begin believing nothing will happen to shatter your status quo and you become soft. you take things for granted, and you lose your shield of disclaimers and wariness. but sooner or later, it comes- it always comes- and the fallout isn't pretty.

that's why love is waiting for the blow to fall.

I'm doing it again, you know. Appreciating her more and missing her slightly because in some context, real or not, I almost lost her. I'm pretty sure I've done this before, I can't remember all the instances, but I know I've done it before. Maybe one day I'll tell her this sudden fondness and spike in missing her is because I dreamt I nearly killed her in a dream the other night.

It's quite disturbing that I keep having dreams in which I'm a traitor, or in which I betray my friends, do them harm, or all of the above.

well, you understand me, don't you? even when everyone else doesn't. and I suppose that's all I need- for you to understand me. for someone, anyone, just one person to understand me. you know why I'm hanging on, even though I shouldn't be, even though I'm doing all I can to force myself to stop, but it's easier said than done. you understand me through all the explanations I come up with, you know me better than I do. I'm trying, you see. I really am trying. and I think- I might actually succeed, and soon. my lucky break's coming.

it was just me and him on the way down in a corner each of the lift, today. we might as well have been in the arctic: there was absolute silence but for the muted whisper of thoughts in my head, and zero eye contact, as if we had no idea who the other one was. as if we didn't know each other, we who shared thoughts and feelings half a year ago, three months ago.

exactly as if we had no idea the other one was even in the lift at all.

he wiped me clean out of existence.

the line from that song goes it hurts me so just to see you go around with someone new, but if I know you you’re doing that thing you do. it was quite a big shock to realise she’s as much on your mind as you are on mine- which, trust me, is pretty damned much. dwelling was my forte, but I guess it’s yours too.

why do you think about her so much? the answers come, swift and simple: because she’s pretty. because you need someone to focus your affection and attention on. because you’re trying to forget me.

I got what I wanted just now- one last glimpse, one last look. The moment I saw you it came, all over again- surprise, and a dulled burning rising overpowering wave of dread and resignation. The look I gave said I still know where to look for you and I still know how to find you. I still think of you, but this is the last time I will see you in weeks. It’s you. It will always be you.

We never said anything nor acknowledged each other across the distance, but I got what I wanted. I'm good.

the beggar boy today picked the best person he could have- out of all of us, Daniel was the one who would have caved, and caved the easiest. there was an awful look on his face when he was being approached by the boy, the kind speaking of an intense desire to help and a deeply caring spirit, cruelly pulled back by the restriction of reality like a horse abruptly reigned in. the walk back to the bus might as well have stretched an eternity. he was a hair's breadth away from caving in any and all of those moments.

the baha'i temple was a sanctuary. there was an utter, precious, priceless silence inside- it wasn't at all deafening, and I was really comfortable in it. heck, I adored it. it wasn't so much an absence of noise as a presence of a blanket, a comforter. and though I couldn't hear them, the shifts of wind and flickers of movement around me spoke of the presence of people.

I wouldn't have minded if it had stayed that way for a long, long time. it was so peaceful, almost like I could have reached out, and brushed my fingers against something corporeal...

on significant things, I pick my words very, very carefully. the tenses, the phrasing and phrases, the open roads of the future. I say exactly what I wish to say, with all the right implications I mean to include within the words I choose. my connotations are nearly always intentional, or at the very least I am aware of them and have allowed them to remain. I write essays with a single line. so read me, I dare you to. you'll have the key, and there are things to be read into. read the clues I have left for you.

I compare myself too much with others; one day this will have to stop. I say that because I have no power at this point in time to affect that change- something tells me it's a matter of time and experience, a progression of maturity, a growing of contentment, something like that. it's like how my loneliness went away, and the mediocrity issue faded with the onset of JC.

but will I ever stop searching for acceptance and esteem? it's such a fundamental issue that I fear the answer is no. what if- what if I'll never be content with myself?

maybe we don't hang too well with people too much like us because we like to be unique. sure, when you first meet someone similar to you you might think hey, cool! there's someone like me; I'm not alone after all! but after awhile, you realise maybe you like being the only one the way you are. it makes you you, and you don't like seeing it in another. that quality, it's all yours. this interpersonal disdain- maybe it's less a dislike of being reminded of your weaknesses when they're apparent in others, and more a preference for being unique.

we go our separate ways, we change without each other. we erase and we forget. we no-longer. it manifests in the small, almost-insignificant things- the parting of my fringe changes, you sport your fresh scar close to your left eye. our lives completely diverge- I stress massively about the impending A levels and make my four As in the end, you drive yourself hard for the rugby nationals and play and get your heart broken and pick yourself up; we both fall but separately, and we rise away from each other as well. we never confide in each other again.

I heard from the trio who stargazed that the stars were gorgeous in the clear dark skies; it would have been an awesome experience- constellations across the crisp night air of a foreign land.

The desert resort was awesome. We thought would have been the worst hotel turned out to be the best, and I couldn't stay up long enough to fully appreciate it even though I can go a full night without sleep. We had the most fun, but still there were people who disliked it. Funny how life tends to turn out like that. That's irony for you.

and so it comes to this. the last night here, the last night with the people I've come to expect as company for breakfast every morning, the last time we will be like this again. the last time I'll get to laugh at your acerbic wit and insults- even your insults will be so much more impersonal in school. the last time I'll get to act like paparazzi. I don't want to close my eyes and fall asleep and wake up and realise it's ended. I don't want this to end. Make this last forever, please. Make this last forever.

I am operating on a different realm. in india, we were disconnected from reality, on a different timeline from everyone else and in an alien world. there was precious little contact with the rest of the world, and it was precious that it was little.

the disconnect persists. I'm not sure I want it to go away. it's not a bad thing, and India was a good reprieve and respite for me. I'm going to need some time before I merge back into the timestream I'm supposed to be in. we're now a week or so behind them.

wait for me.

I don't think I've heard anything as true in a very long time as what she said the last night in the chair next to mine, leaning forward almost earnestly in that bid to get some sense into that in-the-clouds head of yours up- a rescue mission of sorts that was bound to fail, but she had to try nonetheless.

chemistry will die, and if you have nothing else as the foundation of your relationship when it does, you're screwed. I call it eromania- it doesn't last. it's romance and passion- not love, nor what it is based upon.

I'll tell you a secret, she said quietly, sitting next to him. I can heal people. Not of major illnesses like cancer, nor of structural injuries like fractures and sprains and broken bones, but of cuts, abrasions, stuff. Minor wounds. The kinds that are visible, that require immediate attention- the minor wounds that might have major consequences. I can heal them.

You can but you might not. So does the fact, he said, squinting dimly at her and struggling to breathe, that I'm lying here bleeding to death mean you're going to let me die? Yeah, she said calmly, and walked away.

I wish I could protect you beyond what I can now, even though you're tough and you can take the knocks that life hurls in your face. you're so small- but you're bigger than all of us even put together. and you're the one protecting us, really, stepping in and teaching us what we need to know about life and love.

my heart aches knowing you're tired but hurtling on, racing against time anyway. we wish we could do something for you in return- shield you, make you happy, let you know that we appreciate you beyond anything we can express.

I don't often succumb, but I am far more vulnerable at night. My mind is wearied, my defenses are down and memories of you flood in when I am not careful. They engulf without warning and I am overwhelmed for a moment by the intense nostalgia and the recollection of feelings past, of hazy sentiments. How it was to be up at four in the morning, feet on the computer table, slouched in my chair and linked to you through a phone-line, staring across the living room into the dark night illuminated by the innumerable pinpricks of city lights.

I suddenly really, really want a hug now. and I am hardly if ever like this, but right now I really want to be hugged. I want someone to wrap their arms around me, hold me, tell me everything's going to be alright, I want to be embraced, I want to feel safe, I want to know and believe that everything will turn out fine in the end. I want to be comforted and soothed and enfolded, is longing that great a sin, I've been good, can I sound selfish just for this moment, how much longer, how much longer?

you know what? when you refocus and get over and grow out of your immaturities and weaknesses, you're going to be one damned fine man. I have complete faith in that. you're going to be one heck of an awesome person, leader and friend. I do still believe in you- perhaps even more than I used to. and I know you'll develop and grow into someone amazing- you have it in you, even now. you're going to be someone very much respected, and worthy of it. when the maturity comes you're going to come truly alive, you're going to be.

some of us joined the trip to escape various things. I fled far away to heal, she left before she became entangled. you both grabbed respites from your consuming workloads. you ran from reality, and you two came back to a place you had known before. you followed your friend more willingly than you'd let on.

there were many different stories behind each of us, but I am unbelievably glad we all came together in the end. it somehow wouldn't have been the same if there had been a different combination of people, an addition or subtraction of anyone at all.

I fling accusations at you. Defend yourself, it's not personal; your defending arguments will be what reassure me. from my place of power and secure within my own mind you are assailed. I fling at you unspoken accusations that you will never hear, like lightning bolts from a vicious pantheon god.

you don't hear them, hence you cannot speak for yourself. I become your witness, your prosecutor, your judge. stand on trial, love. let me speak for you, as I tear you to shreds. don't worry- I won't let any harm come to you.

because what you aren't killed by will only...

there are some dreams you don't share with anyone, dead or alive. it's a form of pride, a way of keeping something alive, a way of being the person you want to be- even if your ideal of yourself is far, far removed from who you really are. there are some dreams you don't share with anyone, if you don't want their flames snuffed out.

one of the most unpleasant things in this world has got to be people ridiculing what you hold dear, unknowingly or no. I hate it when you do that; I hate it when you do that.

it was a comprehensive, and it was compacted. the manifestations of playground politics, the acceptances and rejections were sharper than any I had seen in a long while. the forces of society acting on thirteen people were accentuated and sped up by the length of time. everything and everyone had to happen within nine days, within a bus, a hotel, a hotel room in the night. we were linked by corridors and staircases, and we each had our respective pathways to other respective individuals. we were classmates, we were friends. we knew about each other, and she knew about us.

I think of you in relative terms to myself because I am familiar with who I am. I draw parallels, I try to understand you in the context of the way I am. I trust my mind over my intuition, although my emotions almost always cloud my rationality and lead me astray. I realise this is rather unfair to you, any and all of you, but isn't it natural? we all need a base to build hypotheses from, somewhere to start, a controlled variable, a set of basic laws, initial understandings and the like. it's just that mine are myself.

this is why I think my significant other will likely be someone who, on aggregate, talks more than I do- in public, at least- and more confidently. but he will also know when to be silent and still (read: sit down and shut up) and listen, and devote attention. and though he may talk more, I will not feel constrained; I will be inherently comfortable in his company, silences or no on either of our parts.

the best part? I will be able to talk to him with ease. grant me comfortable silences, comfortable conversations and I will call myself blessed.

Hey, she said a little sadly, I've been thinking about you for three whole months- even after you cut off all contact with me, even after our friendship soured and died and remained in its grave. Even after you irrevocably transferred all your affection and devotion to her, my heart and mind still tend towards you in an astonishing amount of moments. I'd say that was pretty good proof you meant a lot to me. always, in all ways.

what I used to say then seems fine advice: time will tell, let it, let my actions speak louder than my words.

I was thinking as I watched the news, and the newscaster reported that guy's views on how the youth of our generation were apathetic and couldn't care less, about how the youth didn't have a value system, and just about gleefully trumpted our incompetence. I was thinking: both of them will go far in life. and I'm glad it's the them, because they're awfully decent and nice, and you know that they care, and that with them the future'd be in excellent hands. I hope they go far, they ought to. our hopes are pinned, unspoken or no, on them.