It’s Halloween today, well, not exactly Halloween, but for all intents and purposes it is, since tonight is our Superhero Deviants Halloween extravaganza. I’m sitting on my bed at home right now, enjoying the few hours of calm before the storm. The weather is absolutely beautiful today, despite slightly overcast skies. Fall has taken Hong Kong into its arms and the city feels still, almost as if she is holding her breath in anticipation of tonight’s revelries. Through the gossamer curtains I can see building upon building bathed in gentle light, basking in the quiet of a cool afternoon. These few precious hours, after the noon sun has given its utmost and right before dusk smoothes away the last creases of light, are my favorite time of day. In this balancing point between extremes, anything seems possible.
My phone rings and it’s the co-organizer of the party, letting me know that alas, the last detail to my ensemble tonight is still MIA: a stuffed animal teddy-bear backpack. Hmm…may have to rouse myself from my window-side reverie and descend into the city to complete the mission myself. Maybe just a few minutes more.
Today’s a day for introspection. My pensive mood is muddying all my features and the one release I can think of is channeling my million and one thoughts through these fingertips onto this glowing screen, where my thoughts can reside in peace, stripped from the dangerous alleyways of my mind. For some reason lately my rearview mirror has been taking me back not a day or a week or even a month, but across the past months and years that have made up my “mid-to-late” twenties. Does 27 count as “late” twenties, or could I still pass for “mid”? Leafing through my ‘at a glance’ planners of 2003, 2004 and 2005, sometimes the events marking the coffee-stained pages seem fictitious, notes of a make believe reality that I conjured up to make my past seem more interesting and melodramatic.
But no, these things actually did happen to me. Nice try, though. The ironic twists and turns that have made up the past few years were not figments of my ever-active imagination. Time and time again I’ve exclaimed to my friends and to myself, “you can’t WRITE sh*t better than this!” and it’s true. People who first meet me may think, ah, she’s just a drama queen, but after having known me for awhile, they too realize that sh*t just happens to me, good sh*t and bad sh*t, yes, but sh*t happens at a hypernormal rate. A week goes by and my whole life may have switched course because of some event of another, but the thing is, another week goes by and sure enough, another curveball whizzes my way and another tangent has formed, another pathway has opened up, or another lesson’s been learned. At least I can’t complain that life is boring. ;)
Sometimes I look back and I feel like I’ve traipsed through decades in the span of three years. I wonder if my Dorian Gray portrait is out there somewhere, showing the truth of who I am inside: not a girl in her MID-twenties but a middle-aged woman, shoulders slightly hunched forward, streaks of grey running through her hair, forehead creased and the stamp of crow’s feet at the corners of her rather small eyes. All in all a noticeably weathered countenance. But as you move down past the rounded cheeks and bulbous nose you find lips curved in an easy smile, and then you realize that the depth of the crow’s feet may have something to do with the fact that she’s grinning like an idiot despite it all. Because that’s exactly how I feel. Weathered, but still smiling. It’s like the base of me is happy, no matter what curveballs life decides to throw at me, despite the pain and hurt that runs through me from time to time. When it all comes down to it, the face in the portrait is a happy one. Content despite life’s discontents.
Don’t get me wrong, this doesn’t mean I don’t have my fair share of complaints, tears of anguish, and fits of frustration, but, somehow, I know deep down that it is all okay. The up’s and down’s, the freak incidents and freak-outs, they are all okay. They’re just manifestations of life in all its grandeur. Let’s face it, sh*t happens and it’s up to us to either wallow around in it or scrape it off the bottom of our shoes. Okay, let’s move away from this analogy because it’s getting kinda gross.
And how it all affects me, well, that’s just a result of the way I choose to live. I let emotions run through me that some wiser than myself may choose to avoid or suppress. If I am happy, I am over the moon, and if I am sad, the melancholy roots deep into my soul. If I feel some intuition, I go with it, despite the fear of consequences. And sometimes that leads me into the wrong path, but in the end, are there any “wrong” paths to begin with? It’s the ability to have these feelings and emotions that makes me who I am. It may leave me weathered and stooped, but most importantly, it leaves me to be who I am. For that, I am content. For that, I grin like an idiot.
But now another minute more has turned into half an hour and my teddy-bear is still out there somewhere waiting to be found. The Warm and Fuzzy Lara Croft won’t be the same without a teddy-bear backpack full of Halloween treats. Better get on it then.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Monday, October 17, 2005
Fall Freedom and the Fear of Tears - a fragment
October is a “trigger” month. Pumpkins of recollection sprout out of nowhere and I stub my toes on their unyielding surfaces everywhere I go. Sometimes it’s hard to know if I’m growing them myself, or if God just likes chucking them my way this time of year. It’s not hard to understand why – Ryan’s birthday is at the end of month and he would have been 29 this year.
But October also marks the burgeoning of fall and the end of persistent summertime in Hong Kong. Fall is my favorite time of year no matter what city I’m in, but I anticipate it even more in this one. October is when the humidity begins to ease off, allowing fans and air-conditioners to heave a sigh of relief and take a break from relentless summer days. Despite the pumpkins clouding my mind and sight, the past few mornings I’ve walked out of my apartment complex into the brisk, serene air and immediately felt the need to stretch my arms out to the sky above, undoubtedly looking a bit foolish with a happy grin overtaking an otherwise stubbornly pensive face.
Always feels good to stretch up and feel those arm muscles lengthening towards the possibilities above, not so out of reach as they seem in the oppressive summer heat. Stretch up and feel the sense of freedom - freedom from the clinging smog, freedom from perspiration filling every single pore, freedom from having nothing in your closet to wear that would feel like another sweat-drenched wool sweater upon your skin…ah yes, the freedom of fall, crisp and clean, opening a whole other closet door of possibilities: minis atop knee length boots that instantly make you feel like a fashion icon, cashmere tanks that allow you to be warm and cool all at once, cute little berets and stylish skullcaps for bad hair days.
But I digress. Let me continue...to digress that is. Fall is also for falling in love, hehehe, I’ve always believed that. Come on, there’s a reason they call it “fall” right? No other season has an alias. Spring is spring, summer is summer, and winter, well, winter, but autumn has another distinctly suggestive name. Fall is full of possibilities and hopes and dreams hanging in the still air, hanging amongst the colored leaves aflutter in the gentle breeze, hanging like exhilarated first-time paragliders suspended above green seacliffs, hanging like that perfect line you could have said but didn’t, letting the moment pass you by.
This year, “fall” seems to have taken on another aspect of meaning for me - the cascading of tears from a well I thought had long dried up. Tears squeezing out from the corners of my right triangle eyes as I wince from another stubbed toe on yet another pumpkin. Tears catching me unawares as I relate to another moment in a novel that just so happens to be about a girl whose husband dies at an early age leaving her to traverse the colorful pages in her chapters of grief. Tears springing uncontrollably when I hit another “trigger point”, be it the never-ending estate paperwork that needs to be signed, or the anticipation of my godparents' impending visit, aka Ryan's parents.
You’d think years down this path alone would have steeled me from these tears, but just because you lock it all in an aluminum silo does not mean the waterworks dry up, in fact, as soon as an outlet punches through the metal walls the tears rush out with added pressure, much to your dismay. Not only that, but tears, I realize more and more, tears frighten those around you. Not only are you freaked out by them but those around you are invariably more freaked out than you are. I think it’s because our culture is not a big advocate of those big fat harbingers of emotional release that stream down our faces. You’re advised not to cry, to hold back, keep those emotions tucked safely away from sight, patch up that aluminum silo in your soul and dam those suckers from making their way to the light. Yet I wonder, what is so terrible about crying anyway? What is there to fear in tears?
Tears carry the grief out of you, don’t they? Grief, worry, helplessness, agony, fear upon fear are plumbed from the depths of your being, lined up one by one in bleary eyes awaiting to throw themselves onto the slide of freedom scaling down the contours of your face, ultimately to dry in salty patches on your skin or meeting their demise by Kleenex (or Tempo if you’re still in Asia). Each droplet distilling a part of those emotions somersaulting inside you. Each drop a part of the process, that beautiful process that transforms the Traumatized into the Survivor, and eventually, into just You, sans titles, sans labels.
So I say, cry away. Go crazy. Let those rivulets flow, I tell you. Let them tears freefall in peace.
No more fear of tears.
It's fall, for goodness' sake.
***sent to me today, by one who knows the way***
"...So let the mind with care o'rought,
Flow down the gentle tides of thought;
Calm visions of unending years,
Beyond this moment of fears."
But October also marks the burgeoning of fall and the end of persistent summertime in Hong Kong. Fall is my favorite time of year no matter what city I’m in, but I anticipate it even more in this one. October is when the humidity begins to ease off, allowing fans and air-conditioners to heave a sigh of relief and take a break from relentless summer days. Despite the pumpkins clouding my mind and sight, the past few mornings I’ve walked out of my apartment complex into the brisk, serene air and immediately felt the need to stretch my arms out to the sky above, undoubtedly looking a bit foolish with a happy grin overtaking an otherwise stubbornly pensive face.
Always feels good to stretch up and feel those arm muscles lengthening towards the possibilities above, not so out of reach as they seem in the oppressive summer heat. Stretch up and feel the sense of freedom - freedom from the clinging smog, freedom from perspiration filling every single pore, freedom from having nothing in your closet to wear that would feel like another sweat-drenched wool sweater upon your skin…ah yes, the freedom of fall, crisp and clean, opening a whole other closet door of possibilities: minis atop knee length boots that instantly make you feel like a fashion icon, cashmere tanks that allow you to be warm and cool all at once, cute little berets and stylish skullcaps for bad hair days.
But I digress. Let me continue...to digress that is. Fall is also for falling in love, hehehe, I’ve always believed that. Come on, there’s a reason they call it “fall” right? No other season has an alias. Spring is spring, summer is summer, and winter, well, winter, but autumn has another distinctly suggestive name. Fall is full of possibilities and hopes and dreams hanging in the still air, hanging amongst the colored leaves aflutter in the gentle breeze, hanging like exhilarated first-time paragliders suspended above green seacliffs, hanging like that perfect line you could have said but didn’t, letting the moment pass you by.
This year, “fall” seems to have taken on another aspect of meaning for me - the cascading of tears from a well I thought had long dried up. Tears squeezing out from the corners of my right triangle eyes as I wince from another stubbed toe on yet another pumpkin. Tears catching me unawares as I relate to another moment in a novel that just so happens to be about a girl whose husband dies at an early age leaving her to traverse the colorful pages in her chapters of grief. Tears springing uncontrollably when I hit another “trigger point”, be it the never-ending estate paperwork that needs to be signed, or the anticipation of my godparents' impending visit, aka Ryan's parents.
You’d think years down this path alone would have steeled me from these tears, but just because you lock it all in an aluminum silo does not mean the waterworks dry up, in fact, as soon as an outlet punches through the metal walls the tears rush out with added pressure, much to your dismay. Not only that, but tears, I realize more and more, tears frighten those around you. Not only are you freaked out by them but those around you are invariably more freaked out than you are. I think it’s because our culture is not a big advocate of those big fat harbingers of emotional release that stream down our faces. You’re advised not to cry, to hold back, keep those emotions tucked safely away from sight, patch up that aluminum silo in your soul and dam those suckers from making their way to the light. Yet I wonder, what is so terrible about crying anyway? What is there to fear in tears?
Tears carry the grief out of you, don’t they? Grief, worry, helplessness, agony, fear upon fear are plumbed from the depths of your being, lined up one by one in bleary eyes awaiting to throw themselves onto the slide of freedom scaling down the contours of your face, ultimately to dry in salty patches on your skin or meeting their demise by Kleenex (or Tempo if you’re still in Asia). Each droplet distilling a part of those emotions somersaulting inside you. Each drop a part of the process, that beautiful process that transforms the Traumatized into the Survivor, and eventually, into just You, sans titles, sans labels.
So I say, cry away. Go crazy. Let those rivulets flow, I tell you. Let them tears freefall in peace.
No more fear of tears.
It's fall, for goodness' sake.
***sent to me today, by one who knows the way***
"...So let the mind with care o'rought,
Flow down the gentle tides of thought;
Calm visions of unending years,
Beyond this moment of fears."
Friday, October 14, 2005
Mood: Indigo - playlist
Another Friday...no words today, just a suggested playlist for this smoggy HK afternoon...
Indigo
1. Hide and Seek – Imogen Heap
2. Soul Meets Body – Death Cab For Cutie
3. Landed – Ben Folds
4. High – James Blunt
5. Collide – Howie Day
6. Goodnight and Go – Imogen Heap
7. You and Me – Lifehouse
8. Breathe – Anna Nalick
9. Tears and Rain – James Blunt
10. Then Go – Damien Rice/Lisa Hannigan
11. This Good Love – Jo McCafferty
12. Heal Over – KT Tunstall
13. We’ll Never Know – Lifehouse
14. I’ll Take You On – Howie Day
15. In the Waiting Line – Zero 7
16. Dice – Finley Quaye (mix)
Indigo
1. Hide and Seek – Imogen Heap
2. Soul Meets Body – Death Cab For Cutie
3. Landed – Ben Folds
4. High – James Blunt
5. Collide – Howie Day
6. Goodnight and Go – Imogen Heap
7. You and Me – Lifehouse
8. Breathe – Anna Nalick
9. Tears and Rain – James Blunt
10. Then Go – Damien Rice/Lisa Hannigan
11. This Good Love – Jo McCafferty
12. Heal Over – KT Tunstall
13. We’ll Never Know – Lifehouse
14. I’ll Take You On – Howie Day
15. In the Waiting Line – Zero 7
16. Dice – Finley Quaye (mix)
Friday, October 07, 2005
Worry Whorls - a prayer for the weekend
Ah...Friday. I love Fridays. Fridays are full of possibility. Looking out across the expanse that is your impending weekend, every hour waiting to be filled at your whim - will it be an hour of doing nothing followed by an hour of doing absolutely nothing? Sinking back into the ease of my spacious white sofa, limbs outstretched with abandon, bassbeats of Bob Marley massaging my tired body, flushing out the toxins of weekday life aka Work and Worry...
"Rise up this morning, smile with the rising sun, three little birds, stood by my doorstep, singing sweet song of melodies pure and true, saying this is my message to you..." You all know how the rest goes. =) No? Alright lemme help you out then: "...singing DON'T WORRY...ABOUT A THING...'CAUSE EVERY LITTLE THING'S, GONNA BE ALRIGHT..." Somehow when Marley sings it you can't help but smile and believe him.
I look back at the week and think of all the worries that have siphoned through me, both my own and those of the people that I love, and I wonder...what the heck is it with worrying? We're all so obsessively concerned with the future. Will I have enough saved by such and such time to support the family I plan to have? Will I meet someone with whom I can share my mornings and evenings? Will I ever find a job that fills my pockets and fulfills my soul? Will he say "yes"? Will she say "no"? Will "we" make it?
Even the chillest of those that surround me cannot shake this disease of the mind that does nothing but mold that funny vertical line in between your eyebrows and clutter your brain. I imagine all these little worry whorls, born from the dust on the cellar floors of our mind, swept up by some irresponsible breeze of thought or another, twirling slowly at first, suspended in the stale air, then whirling at an increasing rate, reaching dizzying speeds, shooting up and up until meeting smack with the roof of rationality above, disintegrating in a millisecond, worry particles descending slowly down, down, down to rest upon creaky floorboards, only to be swept up again...ad infinatum. How much energy is wasted in this process, I wonder?
And yet, for all the the rationality we store up in our day-to-day, the worrying never stops, does it? We know worrying doesn't help, we recognize how it hoovers up our positive vibes, we see the muddied puddles it leaves after stomping through our minds, and yet we are all hard-pressed at stopping its onslaught.
So for this precious weekend unfurling at our feet, I bow my head and pray that all these dusty whorls plaguing those I love (and those I have yet to love) will remain lifeless, stay in "corpse" pose upon silent floorboards and allow us all some peace. Namaste. =)
"Rise up this morning, smile with the rising sun, three little birds, stood by my doorstep, singing sweet song of melodies pure and true, saying this is my message to you..." You all know how the rest goes. =) No? Alright lemme help you out then: "...singing DON'T WORRY...ABOUT A THING...'CAUSE EVERY LITTLE THING'S, GONNA BE ALRIGHT..." Somehow when Marley sings it you can't help but smile and believe him.
I look back at the week and think of all the worries that have siphoned through me, both my own and those of the people that I love, and I wonder...what the heck is it with worrying? We're all so obsessively concerned with the future. Will I have enough saved by such and such time to support the family I plan to have? Will I meet someone with whom I can share my mornings and evenings? Will I ever find a job that fills my pockets and fulfills my soul? Will he say "yes"? Will she say "no"? Will "we" make it?
Even the chillest of those that surround me cannot shake this disease of the mind that does nothing but mold that funny vertical line in between your eyebrows and clutter your brain. I imagine all these little worry whorls, born from the dust on the cellar floors of our mind, swept up by some irresponsible breeze of thought or another, twirling slowly at first, suspended in the stale air, then whirling at an increasing rate, reaching dizzying speeds, shooting up and up until meeting smack with the roof of rationality above, disintegrating in a millisecond, worry particles descending slowly down, down, down to rest upon creaky floorboards, only to be swept up again...ad infinatum. How much energy is wasted in this process, I wonder?
And yet, for all the the rationality we store up in our day-to-day, the worrying never stops, does it? We know worrying doesn't help, we recognize how it hoovers up our positive vibes, we see the muddied puddles it leaves after stomping through our minds, and yet we are all hard-pressed at stopping its onslaught.
So for this precious weekend unfurling at our feet, I bow my head and pray that all these dusty whorls plaguing those I love (and those I have yet to love) will remain lifeless, stay in "corpse" pose upon silent floorboards and allow us all some peace. Namaste. =)
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Refuge - a fragment
Music has been my refuge lately. Not that there is anything so terrible out there in my world that I need to hide from, but rather, music drowns out the constant drivel in my mind…the doubts, the worries, the random hypotheses, the portentous scenarios…yep, music drives the drivel aside and gives me some makeshift peace.
So what cards have been precariously stacked into this rickety shelter of mine? So many wonderful artists out there to evoke a myriad of moods through the tightening of a chord, the piercing edge of a string, the persistence of a bassline or the impatience of drums. And, of course, the unique timbre of each voice crying out to be heard.
A few that have run through my veins lately…
Joseph Arthur – Honey and the Moon: Arthur opens the song with a delicate acoustic, joined almost immediately with his equally gentle voice. There something about this song that reminds me of a memory - sitting on a soft-sanded beach in Langkawi, hugging my knees for warmth as the sun descended inch by inch into the ocean spread before me. Stars joined me as I waited, first hesitantly, a twinkle here, another there, until the full glory of the starlit skies took my gaze upwards from the horizon to the deep indigo above. Whispers of contentment accompanied me as I patiently waited, uncertain of the inevitable and somehow still, safe. And hopeful.
“I wish I could follow you, to the shores, of freedom where no one lives…”
Damien Rice – Cannonball: Maybe I’ve been in an acoustic mood lately. Rice’s voice in this song, however, is not really gentle like Arthur's, but more contemplative. Like he’s undecided, mulling through whether or not the person beside him is the one. Lately I’ve been lying in bed at night feeling such a sense of relief that I am sleeping alone, rather than with the wrong person breathing softly beside me. I remember how I used to go to bed feeling a sense of loneliness that I could not shake. Now, after getting back on my feet, having fallen for the wrong person again, I am more relieved to be without. It’s through these dichotomies that you learn about yourself, though, isn’t it, the wrong one teaches you what the right one should be...
“Stones taught me to fly. Love taught me to lie. Life taught me to die. So it's not hard to fall, When you float like a cannonball."
Howie Day – Collide: Another ballad from a male singer/songwriter, what is my deal? Howie Day’s hopeful ballad explores two people crashing into one another…always makes you wonder, is it meant to be? Some sort of destiny, or just randomness? The romantic optimist in me will always aver that everything happens for a reason, you don’t JUST run into people, your energies bring you together for a specific purpose, big or small, doesn’t matter. Each shift in energy changes you, and those that you collide with imprint you forever. It’s such a beautiful image to me, all these collisions that happen every split second of everyday, people weaving in and out of each other’s tapestries, sometimes a recurring pattern, sometimes just a single thread seemingly misplaced but perfect from an eagle’s eye perspective. Makes you wonder though, when a collision occurs that only you are aware of, how does that thread play into your unsuspecting counterpart’s tapestry? A thread missed, unrecognized, blended into the background, while simultaneously that same thread stands out brilliantly in your own weave, shouting out for recognition.
“Out of the doubt that fills your mind, you finally find, you and I collide.”
KT Tunstall – Heal Over: Tunstall’s voice soars above simple chords, intoning lyrics that resound so true to my heart that I was taken aback the first time I heard this song. She offers to wipe my tears away and I am beside my speaker ready to take her up on it. I know, a sad and pathetic image, but have you heard this song yet? A woman speaking to another woman suggests such loving friendship, the kind that gets you through each snag and bramble in the path ahead. Reminds me of how lucky I am to have the friends that I have now, each having tread a well-worn path straight into the depths of my joys and sorrows, each unafraid of the un-ending torrents of emotion that overcome me, each at the ready with the remedy of the day, be it a word of comfort or jest, massaging deep into the pain I sometimes feel or caressing lightly the bruises I accumulate from the sometimes trying, sometimes trivial travails I encounter daily. Healing me over, everyday. Yeah, you guys know who you are. :)
"And I don't wanna hear you tell yourself
That these feelings are in the past
You know it doesn't mean they're off the shelf
Because pain's built to last
Everybody sails alone
oh but we can travel side by side
Even if you fail
You know that no one really minds"
So what cards have been precariously stacked into this rickety shelter of mine? So many wonderful artists out there to evoke a myriad of moods through the tightening of a chord, the piercing edge of a string, the persistence of a bassline or the impatience of drums. And, of course, the unique timbre of each voice crying out to be heard.
A few that have run through my veins lately…
Joseph Arthur – Honey and the Moon: Arthur opens the song with a delicate acoustic, joined almost immediately with his equally gentle voice. There something about this song that reminds me of a memory - sitting on a soft-sanded beach in Langkawi, hugging my knees for warmth as the sun descended inch by inch into the ocean spread before me. Stars joined me as I waited, first hesitantly, a twinkle here, another there, until the full glory of the starlit skies took my gaze upwards from the horizon to the deep indigo above. Whispers of contentment accompanied me as I patiently waited, uncertain of the inevitable and somehow still, safe. And hopeful.
“I wish I could follow you, to the shores, of freedom where no one lives…”
Damien Rice – Cannonball: Maybe I’ve been in an acoustic mood lately. Rice’s voice in this song, however, is not really gentle like Arthur's, but more contemplative. Like he’s undecided, mulling through whether or not the person beside him is the one. Lately I’ve been lying in bed at night feeling such a sense of relief that I am sleeping alone, rather than with the wrong person breathing softly beside me. I remember how I used to go to bed feeling a sense of loneliness that I could not shake. Now, after getting back on my feet, having fallen for the wrong person again, I am more relieved to be without. It’s through these dichotomies that you learn about yourself, though, isn’t it, the wrong one teaches you what the right one should be...
“Stones taught me to fly. Love taught me to lie. Life taught me to die. So it's not hard to fall, When you float like a cannonball."
Howie Day – Collide: Another ballad from a male singer/songwriter, what is my deal? Howie Day’s hopeful ballad explores two people crashing into one another…always makes you wonder, is it meant to be? Some sort of destiny, or just randomness? The romantic optimist in me will always aver that everything happens for a reason, you don’t JUST run into people, your energies bring you together for a specific purpose, big or small, doesn’t matter. Each shift in energy changes you, and those that you collide with imprint you forever. It’s such a beautiful image to me, all these collisions that happen every split second of everyday, people weaving in and out of each other’s tapestries, sometimes a recurring pattern, sometimes just a single thread seemingly misplaced but perfect from an eagle’s eye perspective. Makes you wonder though, when a collision occurs that only you are aware of, how does that thread play into your unsuspecting counterpart’s tapestry? A thread missed, unrecognized, blended into the background, while simultaneously that same thread stands out brilliantly in your own weave, shouting out for recognition.
“Out of the doubt that fills your mind, you finally find, you and I collide.”
KT Tunstall – Heal Over: Tunstall’s voice soars above simple chords, intoning lyrics that resound so true to my heart that I was taken aback the first time I heard this song. She offers to wipe my tears away and I am beside my speaker ready to take her up on it. I know, a sad and pathetic image, but have you heard this song yet? A woman speaking to another woman suggests such loving friendship, the kind that gets you through each snag and bramble in the path ahead. Reminds me of how lucky I am to have the friends that I have now, each having tread a well-worn path straight into the depths of my joys and sorrows, each unafraid of the un-ending torrents of emotion that overcome me, each at the ready with the remedy of the day, be it a word of comfort or jest, massaging deep into the pain I sometimes feel or caressing lightly the bruises I accumulate from the sometimes trying, sometimes trivial travails I encounter daily. Healing me over, everyday. Yeah, you guys know who you are. :)
"And I don't wanna hear you tell yourself
That these feelings are in the past
You know it doesn't mean they're off the shelf
Because pain's built to last
Everybody sails alone
oh but we can travel side by side
Even if you fail
You know that no one really minds"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
