The spoon’s removed, the stirs are gone. The residue settles. The glass clears. The water calms. Tinted water, tinted with a shade of red. Tinted, but clearing, soothing.
All is good. All is clear. All is calm. All is right. All is fading.
Like how things are supposed to be. Like how I’ve always wanted it to be.
Aliens are barred from entry.
I know I said that you’re gonna be the one who’d save me, but I guess you finally understood that fact and became aware of where you really stood. Then with that new-found power you wielded it, used it and sent me scurrying like a lifeless marionette.
I know I gave unconditionally, but I guess I gave it too soon. I gave it to a little girl, who didn’t know and didn’t understand the power she was wielding. She took it, toyed with it but didn’t want to throw it away. I guess it is thrilling to be able to wield such power. I’ve had the honor several times in the past, but I guess I didn’t, and I couldn’t wield it the same way you did. I bear the burden and pain of experience, for when the power to inflict was given to me, I was reminded of my scars as the inflicted. Such power should not be used for an adolescent end.
Such power should not be given to unassuming little girls who bask in the knowledge of their beauty, who know and who dare to use it without remorse. For the worry does not lie in retribution or justice, but rather the fate that befalls upon them. An impending existence bound by nothing but beauty, which time inevitably corrodes to reveal nothing but a shell fixed in its glassy smile faded away to a harrowing emptiness within.
And in everything I do, and I mean everything, I always leave a backdoor, not only for others, but also for myself.
I shall take my leave.
I did a major clearing of my room the other day, and I have to say that I was appalled at first, but relieved after. Initially I just went about doing some surface cleaning and clearing, just so that everything would at least look prim and tidy. However, as that very intention struck across my mind, a parallel drew and I gained understanding. I proceeded to sieve out every single object in my room.
Guess what I found.
Notes from yesteryear, cards, gifts hidden in hidden corners in hidden places. Random scribbles of angst written illegibly and then tucked somewhere. Totally irrelevant things lumped together in the same drawers and cabinets for the sake of mere convenience. Useless things, things which did nothing but to take up space, and things I kept of which reasons I have long forgotten. My initial feeling of surprise slowly turned as my smile tweened to a gaping expression of shock. There was too much rubbish. Way too much rubbish.
By the time everything was emptied from their hiding place, my entire visible room was jam packed with trash. I could not even open my door properly to exit my room. I decided to go through the objects one by one to see if they still held any useful or sentimental value to me. It was just shocking how most of the things were just too ridiculous to keep. Strange computer wires which were already obsolete, spare weapons for my robot kits, spare springs and spare screws made up most of the trash. Besides those, there were cds which had data but weren’t written properly, strange cards and pamplets from years ago, expired medication, rotten boots, stale helmets, and other whatnot. There were also those container boxes of every single electrical appliance I’ve ever bought, including the ones which were already discarded or stolen.
You get the idea, there was so much trash.
And when the cupboards were emptied, there was no room to even move.
There was no way I could get out as well.
I forced a way out, opened the home door, and started throwing those things away. To and fro, I lugged with as much strength and capacity as I could muster to discard and destroy the things which I didn’t want to see, feel and know anymore. I could no longer afford the clutter in my room. My room must be my place of solace, comfort and well-being. I can no longer treat it like how I have treated it before. It can no longer be treated as a mere shelter and a mere place to do what I have to do. This is not the way I can live my life anymore. My room is an extension of myself, the way it is reflects my personality, attitude and well-being. Looking at how it had been since my poly days, I would infer of myself that though I kept my will to live, I didn’t pursue the joy of living. It was as though I was a machine, treated as though I simply needed to execute, and clock my hours and progress on a daily basis. Thing is, we are not machines, and we were never made to be machines.
I started salvaging the things which I decided to keep. Happy things, things which remind me that people care, and people remember. These things emanate and exude hope. These things allow me to press on, and learn to trust. I started packing these things properly, and sorting them out with proper organisation and meaning. Soon all the work was done.
I looked through my cupboards and saw my room in a new light. Extra tables and stools were no longer needed, and I moved those things out. There was more space. I could finally open my cupboards and drawers and see that it’s contents have meaning, instead of the usual disarray I once had to bear. I could finally breathe.
My room didn’t change drastically, it looks only slightly different now, but I know, that a lot of shit changed inside.
I can finally breathe.
Can’t you see the senselessness of it all?
Two rams running headlong into each other, tearing each other apart, one wittingly, the other unknowingly. You are unable to bear all of me, while I stand unable to stand part of you. But when I speak of leaving, you express unwillingness. I cannot be the person you would like to keep by your side.
How can you expect me to be there for you, when you have never done anything of the sort? How can I envelope all of this, and strive relentlessly while you commit near to nothing? How can you ask of me accountability when you were never accountable to me to begin with? You expect me to give everything to you while you take it and give me nothing but unfinished scraps off the floor?
Are you that haughty? Are you you that conceited?
Do you have any idea just how immense this unsettling feeling is? How is this fair? How is this even fair? How is this fair in any way?
I seek to be an equal, not to be a servant. I am not in any way worse than you. The only advantage you have over me is that you already have all of me, while I only harboured a small inkling from you. Do not use this. Do not cheapen me. Do not take advantage of the situation. If you do, I promise you nothing less than a just return.
I had about enough, don’t expect me to go easy.
For the ENTP, falling in love occurs when they feel that there is a good fit with the other person. Often within the first meeting, ENTPs will know whether the relationship has any real potential. ENTPs may find it difficult to commit to anyone until the right person comes along. During this period, ENTPs explore the closeness until they can be certain that they have looked at all of the possibilities. Because of this, they are not likely to settle down early. When they do become involved in a relationship, they generally want to maintain as much independence and freedom as their loved one can tolerate. Their mates may need to have high self-esteem and to be independent themselves in order to accept the ENTP need for freedom and novelty.
For ENTPs, falling out of love, which may not always occur, results when their vision of the relationship does not square with reality. Sometimes they will select someone who offers stability and comfort and ENTPs later will become bored with the stability. When scorned, ENTPs use their powerful and broadreaching analysis to explain the reasons why the relationship was not good in the first place; additionally, they may become competitive with their former partner and work hard to win. ENTPs do not like to lose at anything they undertake.
You Lose.
The man with all his years asked for a cigarette. And he got one.
