broken shells and blank papers...

your life is like a sheet of paper.
in the beginning, you are pure, clean, white as white, innocent, naive.
as you grow, you accumulate knowledge and experience and begin to fill with writings.
some of us are special and begin to fill up with doodles and drawings, nonsensical scribblings only they understand.
question is, whom do you allow to fill you with both knowledge and experience?
for, like paper, you can eventually erase the bad writing/drawing but it WILL ALWAYS leave a mark, a faint but legible scar.
sometimes, in the process of putting pen to paper, the paper gets torn.
sometimes, in the process of erasing, the paper gets torn.
and you cry at the pain of it all, at the hurt and the fear and you ask why.

like paper, we are all meant to be read.
we each are meant to fill someone else's life with what we have on us.
some of us give the gift of laughter, some of us, the gift of our love, all different and unique in the gifts that we share.
but all of us have a story to share. every tear on our once white facade, every smudge and faint scar, they can help another understand why.
they can help another just by saying that, 'look at me. i have been there. i have hurt, and i have lost. i understand and i empathise. look at me. i am still here. there is hope.'

so, know that even as we hurt, we are not alone. know that, as you cry, someone will be there to catch your precious tears.
know that, in our sorrow there is a greater purpose, a higher meaning, that we each can help another understand, that i am a torn piece of paper, just as you are and if you would let me, we can help each other through it.
'i. am. still. here. there is hope.'

my mirror...

Faber Drive ~ By Your Side

I'll turn off the lights and let you sleep

Just close your eyes, relax and dream...

Jay Chou ~ 雨下一整晚 (It Rains All Night)

街   灯  下  的  橱  窗
有  一  种  落  寞  的  温  暖
吐  气  在  玻  璃  上
画  着  你  的  模  样 

The display window below the street lights
Possesses a kind of desolate warmth
Breathing onto the glass
And drawing your face on it

This Providence ~ Sand In Your Shoe

I couldn't stand to be in that place

I was just about to leave, when I saw your face

You were laughing at me with your beautiful mouth

You said, "You're looking miserable, do you wanna get out?"

Jimmy Eat World ~ Dizzy

I told you as i haven't, I've never felt this way

You said 'I had a shot that stop my clock, baby it's ok'

You said you never have regrets

Jesus, is there someone yet, who got that wish?

Did you get yours, babe?

Our Lady Peace ~ Are You Sad?

Are you sad?

Are you locked in your room?

You shouldn't be.

The Ataris ~ My Reply

These arms remain stretched out to you
Maybe someday you'll accept them
Or maybe its too late to save a young girls heart that's long stopped beating

watchmewatchyou...

when it comes down to it, what would you choose?

the jagged edge of a rusty knife that is pain,

or the numb, unfeeling void of emptiness?

i can't decide.

the museum of broken dreams...

   He would not make it. I see it in his eyes, though he will not understand the consequences. I didn't make it as well. Another asked me the question, and I am bound eternally to it.
   'Yes, I wo-'

   'Daddy, Daddy!' and then a ball of energy jumped into his arms. She smelled like sunshine and butterflies on a spring day, warm and full of life.
   Hey, princess! Why aren't you with your little friends?
   She gave him a sloppy kiss and went off like a train. 'Ooh, Daddy! I saw a T-Rex! Ms. Suzy said it eats meats, but why is it all bones huh Daddy? And then we saw phheteradacktil...a phheete..you know, those flying dinosaurs! And then Jimmy tried to bite the big blue ball called earth and...'

   He looked deep into his daughter's eyes, and saw everything that he had lost, everything he wished he had, all the dreams that were never meant to be. Everything was right there, and he felt peace.
   He turned to the old man.
   'No. I have everything, all my dreams. Right here,' he kissed his daughter and swung her up on his shoulders and walked off.

   I am glad to see him walk away with a joyful step.
   In my failure, I see another's redemption and rebirth.

   The black gem glinted sorrowfully in the light.
   A spiderweb of cracks crisscrossed the obsidian; the stone is made of little shards of black gems, pieced together by every human's 'what ifs', held together by tears and regrets.
   Every single piece is a lost fragment of a dream, a broken shard from a broken heart.

the museum of broken dreams...

   'Tell me,' he said after he composed himself and could muster his words.
   How can I? I, the prisoner without chains, the steward of memories. I, the old, broken man with a handkerchief.
   I cannot, I hear myself tell him. It is...ineffable.
   He gave a mirthless chuckle. 'What was it I saw? You know it. I can see it in your eyes.'
   Of course I knew. I saw as he did, through his very eyes. How can I explain what words can never?
   Can I ask you a question? I heard my voice ask.
   'Yes, you can. Will I answer, that's a different story.'
   I like this man. I want him to pass where I did not.
   If you could go back and change it, all of it, the one you never had, the book that never was, the love that changed everything and was lost, would you?

   He asked, 'If you could go back and change it, all of it, the one you never had, the book that never was, the love that changed everything and was lost, would you?'
   Would I? Could I?
   I remember seeing her when I returned from the army in another's arm.
   I remember the dream of being a writer, not an engineer who writes, but a writer.
   I remember her cold, blue lips that I kissed hoping to bring her back, the gray cheeks were my tears fell.
  
   I asked him what I was asked. His eyes disappeared behind clouds, and I knew he would fail.
   How can I explain the paradox of my feelings? I want to escape and be free from my eternal role, but I don't want another to take my place, not especially him.
   He answered, after a lifetime.

   Yes, I wo-

 

the museum of broken dreams...

   Please, Lord, give her more time. Please..just..please.
   His thoughts were a-muddle, alternating between praying and cursing.
   Get the f*ck out of my way! Move!
   He has never prayed with such fervour before.

   And yet, it was too late.
   He was too late.

   You know how I feel about this.
   'I do. But you know what I want. Above everything else.'
   I do. But we can wait. We can always try later. We can...
   'No, we can't. I can't. I want to bring life into this world. If it means that-'
   No, don't say it. We'll be fine. You will be fine.
   She kissed the hand he used to silence her, then wiped his tears. 'I love you.'
   And I, you. Forever?
   'And always.'

   He laid a fresh rose on her grave, as he had done everyday for a year now, everyday with tears in his eyes and a bleeding heart.
   He always came alone. He would not bring him here yet.
   Wiping his tears onto the gravestone and kissing the cold marble, he left the grave as well as the shards of his heart.
   'I will come back tomorrow, love. Sleep well.'

   He took the handkerchief and wiped the tears that were streaming down his face.
   The old man stood patiently, giving him his privacy to mourn for his losses.
   Finally, when the tears have abated, he looked to the old man.
   'Tell me.'

the museum of broken dreams...

   'Son, to be perfectly blunt, this is rubbish. I appreciate your coming all the way here to see me in person, but there is nothing I can do. Nor you for the matter.'
   Always lovely to hear, people calling your essence rubbish.
   'Do you want some advice, son? Give it up. Go home. Do something else. You may kill yourself pursuing this.'
   Instead, I should kill a dream?

   The manuscript has been sent to I-totally-forgot-how-many-publishing houses. Of course there has been no replies. Of course everyone called it rubbish.
   Of course.

   I look into the still, glassy water. I hold the only copy left of my manuscript, the original.
   My sweat and blood. My pride.
   My dream.
   I threw it into the water.
   Shattered.

   He blinked, and shook his head.
   A hand, on his shoulder. An old man, who gave him a handkerchief and a melancholic smile.
   The old man motioned at the obsidian, and again his gaze fell on it.

the museum of broken dreams...

    'I love you too.'
    The answer that he was hoping for.
    I have no money. I have nothing to offer you.
    'Silly,' she kissed his nose. 'I have you. What else do I need?'
    You need a shelter you could call home. You need a husband who can provide adequately. You need...
    'I know silly. As long there is you..and there is me...it will be.'
    He loved her for that.

    He had broken off a piece of his heart, the only gift that he could afford to give her just before he left for the war.

    And she had left it, out in the dust and the rain.

    He never thought pain could be so sharp and unforgiving.
    And he never found that shard that was his ever again.

    He blinked.
    'Son? You ok?'
    Yes, I am fine, thank you.
    He looked thoughfully at the obsidian gem again.

~

i am trying something new. let me know what you think.

this is part one of four.

adieu

Adonai...

a nailed hand

for my pride

spittle on stubble

for my broken-ness

another nailed hand

 for my lies and untruths

a blow to the cheek

for my wicked nature

a crown of thorns

for the pedestal that was His

curses and abuse

for my unfaithfulness

public ridicule

for my sins and my secret shames

Adonai, crucified

for me
 

adieu

it makes no sense, makes no sense, makes no sense...

for someone who makes no sense, he makes alot of sense...

 

doesn't it really?

adieu