Henlo

You know, it takes some kind of person to reject previous desires. But then again, we never stop wanting things. Especially the things we once longed for. It's a matter of choice to surrender to them or pull through. But always what matter is what you think.

Calm long awaited smooth transition. No anger, no yelling, no cursing. I did not wish it to be the same it was for I wanted to feel important. I trust it won't be. In my grand plan towards being the greatest. I have stopped midway. It's not so great. But a mark nonetheless. I initiated it. It felt freeing. It's not really numbness for there is implied pain. But it's light, frivolous, soft and sweet. A sign for being alive with blood pumping. The rest should be simple. 1 action just to follow through what has already began. Being the greatest was the wish. But then again even if I was not. There was a mark at least. There is a mark. I'm sure of it. It will always be there. For I have done nothing wrong. It was a swift ending cute and blossoming. Ah the breath I take thereafter is more freeing. The invisible ties loosened. I can pursue life the way it used to be. The way I was. I have no regrets. Stopping before getting too deep is a bliss as well. Whatever happens next is to be determined. There is always a possible switch. I mildly hope it's not triggered for I can be as strong as I am soft. Very smooth with sudden aches. For I am a human. But one that knew the fate beforehand.

Couple of days ago.

Enraged , tired, annoyed and remorseful. Yet all these feelings jumbled up together to serve as an entertaining orchestra of chaos. If I were to ever gather up my sentiments; shelf them appropriately to strive. So much time was wasted. So much life has slipped without notice. I stand here today with the experiences of a past. Untarnished it stood defying all meanings and regrets. I long for a time I never had. One big wasted opportunities. Or were they? No they were not. It was only a different sphere that I occupied. It was good nonetheless. Yet all memories decayed and crumbled to my feet as I strove to reach them. The resolution was never atteind. Sadness withheld deep within. A feeling so simple yet so meaningless when stretched into words. Writing seems to strip away these feelings from their authenticity. It amplifies them for a moment. They reach new heights then soon after stricken. They are no longer as strong as they once were. I in fact, find myself thinking about other things. Previously muted senses are functional at high force. Well, I guess nothing lasts. Which is good. It merely lingers as a casual piercing. an itch one likes to stroke every once in a while in times of complete solitude.

One month later,