Your eyes are an ocean,
  Every gaze is a massive wave,
  I drown myself in them -
  For the first time, I’m breathing

(Source: artreture.com)

Ruthless

Ruthless knees scrape to the sea
   The world melts at your door
   Your feelings are my jungle
   I’ll go but won’t be leaving

Ghosts and reveries
   Become you and me
   Canyons and bonfires to the water
   Twist me into your wandering smokes

I can feel your energy
    On my cold, sleeping shoulders
    The clocks are on skates
    I’m ruthless - move closer, baby

(Source: artreture.com)

I’m tracing your steps
   By sniffing your scent
   Wind down, just ask -
   Mr. Moon offers a glass

Fantasies like disease
   My lungs burn
   Without your breaths
   Pour me some madness

This soul knows no one
   High above, we fly
   There’s the golden gates!
   Let’s slip in and out

(Source: artreture.com)

May I, Alfie?

May I chase you, Alfie
   As we find the creature
   Hidden by our televisions
   These caskets make us panic
   I want to feel better

I’m losing my mind, Alfie
   The love I gave turns to fears
   Every night has bleached me
   From loneliness to numb
   But baby, I want to be better

You were broke, Alfie
   My sharp edges made you bleed
   It sent you to the ceilings
   I’m a stranger, but not permanent   I want to get better

Let’s sleep at the back of a cab
   Until the nights welcome the sun
   Pocket every candle and light
   I’m at my best with you
   Let’s beat better together, Alfie

(Source: artreture.com)

Teddy

"Son, you will be a fine young man one day." Mr. Bennett dusted off the shoulders of his little boy’s new tweed jacket. He tossed the empty Harvey Nichols shopping bag on the sofa and placed his hands on his hips. A pale young face looked up at him and a smile emerged in between flushed cheeks. "Do you like it, Theodore? You look just like daddy now." His son nodded. Theo looked at himself in the mirror. He leaned a little to the right and noticed he had the same jaw as his father’s. But Mr. Bennett was handsomer. With a stubble that still made him look fresh and the light wrinkles on his forehead telling tales of the life he has lived, Theo knew his father was all he wanted to become. He knew his dad worked at a factory because he often came home with soot on his hands. But he said this year was going to be better - he was going to be promoted. Mr. Bennet gifted himself and his son a new pair of tweed jackets, while presenting a fancy box of chocolates to Mrs. Bennet. She wore a smirk as if expecting a pashmina instead, but Mr. Bennet held her close anyway and planted a kiss on her cheek.

He took a step back to look at his son again. Mr. Bennet ruffed Theo’s hair, but it still remained in its place. He broke into laughter as he held his palm out in the open. "Again, Theo? You silly boy." Theo had developed a liking towards gel after seeing those commercials on the television. Mrs. Bennet often reprimanded Mr. Bennet for having kept the gel within his reach. He almost always seem to find where they were. He once slept with gel on his hair and woke to a stiff pillow the next day. Mrs. Bennet was not pleased.

It was a fine Sunday in Consett, County Durham. The wind was cold but the trees remained sturdy. Lone newspaper pages wobbled on the curbs and the distant sound of dogs being walked reached the open windows of Theo’s room. He rested his head on his folded arms. When he didn’t play with his toys, he often stayed by the windowsill and observed people. He knew the postman came at 3pm every afternoon to slip in thin parcels onto a big red box, excepting Sundays. He knew the ambulance passed by their street at least twice a week. He knew the milkman came at 11 in the morning to hand Mrs. Bennet bottles of milk and would leave by 2 pm. He knew his father always left for work before the sun rose and would be back as the sun is setting.

Theo heard arguments from the living room. Mr. Bennet just reached home, but he didn’t visit Theo’s room with a small present like he always did. He pressed his ear against the door and heard both his parents in a heated conversation. Turning the knob of his door slowly, he tiptoed to the beginning of the stairs and listened closely.

"I can’t believe you did this, Mary. Right under my nose. Right under Theodore’s nose. Our son! Has he seen any of this? Has he seen any of it! My poor boy! Our son! My son!" Mrs. Bennet sobbed amidst the raging voice of Mr. Bennet. He heard a screech as his father pulled a chair and sat heavily on it. Mrs. Bennet was whimpering. "What? What are you trying to say, Mary? What on Heaven’s name can you possible tell me?"

"I’m sorry, Thomas! I didn’t mean any of it!" Mrs. Bennet continued crying and Mr. Bennet’s voice took over again. Theo held the handrails of the staircase tightly until his palms went white. He heard more than he should. He quietly crept back to his room and took his pillow. He held it tightly as how his eyes remained shut. Theo opened them again, now slightly red. He walked over to his bed side table. He grabbed his unfinished milk bottle and placed it in the garbage.

… . .

It was Sunday. Consett seemed gloomier when Theo last remembered it. The streets were wet and the lamp posts reflected on them. He listened closely to the way the rain pitter-pattered on his window and onto the roads. He saw people running with bags over their heads. He heard vehicles honking from a distance. The mailman didn’t arrive today. The ambulance passed by every two days. The milkman hasn’t come by in years. His father hasn’t left for work about the same time.

Theo visited his father’s room. A pale, thin man raised his head as he saw his son enter the room. "Theo.." He wheezed. Theo sat beside his father and stroked his forehead. His skin felt cold and ill. He looked around the room and was no longer surprised of the clear absence of Mrs. Bennet’s things. The coat rack that used to overflow with her coats were bare. Her mirror usually stained with lipstick was dusty and unclean. Her slippers remained untouched by the door. Theo’s eyes landed on her picture that remained by Mr. Bennet’s bedside table. Mr. Bennet coughed heavily for several minutes. Theo reached over to pass his medicine onto his shaky palm. He tossed it in his mouth and wore a displeased look. Theo held the frame that had Mrs. Bennet’s picture in it. He looked up at Mr. Bennet, expressionless. "Son. I know it’s been a long time. But we wait for the people we love. She will come back, Theo." Theo placed the frame back on his bedside table. He didn’t know what to feel about Mrs. Bennet. Or Mr. Bennet.

"I have a gift for you, son." Mr. Bennet coughed. Theo hasn’t received a present from him in the longest time. Mr. Bennet pointed under the bed. He retrieved a box beneath the thick bed sheet and told him to open the lid. In it rested an expressionless maroon teddy bear, wrapped in thin white paper. "Your mother and I used to call you Teddy when you were a baby. You used to loved teddy bears." Theo attempted a smile but placed the lid back on the box. He no longer played with toys. He kept them all away.

Theo held the box in between his arm and hip as he stood up to leave the room. But Mr. Bennet suddenly held his hand. “Son, isn’t it time for that show? Switch on the television for me, will you?”

Theo couldn’t hide his smile. He ran towards the television and clicked it open. Hopping onto Mr. Bennet’s bed, the reflection of Charlie Chaplin reflected on their identical black-pearl eyes. Theo laughed as Mr. Bennet imitated several of Chaplin’s comical movement. It has been a long while since they both watched their favourite show. The same goes for Theo’s smile. Remembering his present, he took the teddy bear out and held it close to him. Theo rested his head on Mr. Bennet’s pillow and both continued laughing. After several minutes, Mr. Bennet started to breathe uncomfortably. "Son…" he said, "I will rest for a bit. Father feels a bit unwell." Theo nodded. He held Mr. Bennet’s hand. It was cold, but it still clung tightly around his fingers. Theo continued watching with his teddy bear.

Charlie Chaplin went on for another 15 minutes. Theo laughed, almost having to turn away to catch his breath. He knew he was fidgeting a lot and it must have bothered Mr. Bennet. The show came to an end. He wondered why Mr. Bennet didn’t reprimand him for laughing too loud and for being too fidgety. He normally told Theo to keep it down.

Theo noticed Mr. Bennet’s hands were colder and limp. He looked over and saw his eyes were closed but almost open. He shook his father’s wrist first, and then his arms. With tears in his eyes, he leaned closer to hold his face. Theo knew that something always moved below his chin, a sign of life and warmth. It was gone.

… . .

Everyone wore black that Sunday. People familiar to him and strangers gathered around the casket. There were distant sobs and frequent small talk from people around him. Theo responded with a nod. Someone arrived in a white dress and a small book. They said a prayer for an hour until the people paid their respects to Mr. Bennet. Mrs. Bennet approached Theo with someone he hasn’t seen in years. "Theodore… Honey." She held her arms open to embrace Theo. He stepped away and went closer to Mr. Bennet’s casket. Her eyes were red from crying, the collar of her coat damp with her tears. The milkman grew weight from the last time he saw him. Theo winced as he held Mrs. Bennet’s hand. He watched them turn away. He felt a surge of anger rest between his chest.

A man in a loose suit approached Theo. "Theodore. Your father has left you several things in his will." Intrigued, Theo ignored everyone and sat down with Mr. Townsend. This was the only time since Mr. Bennet’s passing that anyone had anything worth knowing to tell Theo. Mr. Townsend handed a Charlie Chaplin poster, a watch, several books, an envelope with several bills and a teddy bear. Mr. Townsend said other things. They seemed important because they included the words "legal", "law", "stay elsewhere", "come of age" and "sorry". But Theo wasn’t listening. As he held the remnants of Mr. Bennet close to his body, he shut his eyes tight and waited for Mr. Townsend to move away.

Everyone wore black that Sunday except for Theo. He wore the the tweed jacket that still fit him perfectly, along with the red tie Mr. Bennet always went to work in. Everyone parted from the funeral. Theo went closer to the casket. After hours of keeping everything, he placed his head and hands on the surface and cried a silent one.

Theo felt his heart break from his chest, his entire body giving up on him. He wanted to scream. He wanted everything to end. But a kind whisper cooed at him. It came from the ground. Teddy looked up at him with a gentle smile on his face. Theo picked him up and they both kept Mr. Bennet company for a little while longer.

Teddy (Mr Bean’s backstory)

(Source: artreture.com)

The advantage of not having it all figured out is that it makes someone out there feel less alone. At least.

(Source: artreture.com)

He had power over strings
   As if music was how he spoke
   I had a certain tune in my head
   But I couldn’t pronounce a note

His fingers glided to and fro
   My eyes darted like so
   I wanted to sing a lyric or two
   But my mind was moot

I approached a little closer
   As I watched him play
   He paused for a while
   Wondering what I was going to say

I kissed his cheek and backed away
  Turning red, he asked why
   I said, "Your gaze was my song
  Thank you, please continue to play”

(Source: artreture.com)

When I’m with him
   I lose myself -
   In our togetherness
   And shivering chains,
   We are selfless in this love,
   Letting love do all the giving

(Source: artreture.com)

I wish I had more things to say when my day wraps up to be a great one, or if I’m overcome with burdens in my chest. Sometimes, I resolve to silence or ignoring how I truly feel by indulging in momentary disturbances. It is that moment in the night before slumber when my brain switches itself back to pilot mode and the rush of the weight of life comes stomping on my chest. Today was a happy day. It was well-spent with great people, great films and great food that makes me feel like I resemble a couch. Yesterday, I was sad and confused about my next step in my career and was overcome with so much emotions that I chose to conceal it. I was desperately looking for distractions that will make me veer away from it. I wish I wrote about how I felt. But intense emotions clog up my thought tubes. I end up just heaving a heavy sigh and ranting about it to my beloved, who is such a patient man whom I don’t deserve but wish to keep anyway. To wrap it up, I guess not being able to focus on my thoughts in order to write them down allows me to experience life as a whole. Applying my entire self in all its fragility helps me figure out how, where and when to make my next step. Life is a serious blow to the stomach at times. It watches you puke on yourself with aspirations you once thought you could grab by the hand. But perspective is key. Knowing the right people in this existence makes me picture Life to be a painful thrill that’s worth it. When things get tough and it makes me want to drown my head in a tub, I’d rub my eyes and let my sight re-focus. Things may always remain the same, but my outlook will always determine my happiness.

(Source: artreture.com)

I once cried until I made a mirror -
   I swallowed my reflection
   Just to watch them leak again

(Source: artreture.com)

Don’t close the door. Let me in, okay?"
“You have the keys.
? #personal

(Source: artreture.com)

Her skin felt like it was lit up by fire. I held her close and cried silently as I looked upon her pale face. The previous nights, she was stricken with a very high fever. Confined at the hospital for a few days, I barely slept as I chose to watch her at all times. Witnessing a little girl at the age of six suffer weakened my heart. I recall holding her close and rocking her in my arms when I could. The medicines finally kicked in and I was glad to see her eyes rid of pain. Colour was back on her soft cheeks. She was back home.

"It’s alright now mom", she crooned. “You didn’t have to cry you know. You didn’t have the fever.” Putting her hair into a braid, I whispered, “Pain happens when we see the ones we love have a difficult time, my love.” She nodded in agreement but continued to question me.

"How does it feel like," she asked, “The pain. You didn’t have a fever. But I saw it in your eyes” I took a moment to process her question. How could I describe how empathetic pain felt like to a six-year-old?

"I’m guessing honey," I started, "It would feel like… Let’s say you have a drawing you did in art class. You drew a pretty unicorn on it, with your favorite flowers and all. But someone suddenly came up to you and scribbled on your masterpiece." I saw her wince and I chuckled. "It’s just an example, honey. It only means that we usually become a part of what we do."

"But I’m no drawing. I’m your baby. I’m human, see. My teeth." She sunk her baby teeth playfully onto my arm. I giggled and said, “Now that is real pain. My daughter is half dinosaur, I think.” “Rarrrr!”, she cried out.

I took another moment to give her an explanation. “Okay, how about this,” I started again, "Let’s say we got you a puppy. And you named him Rover. Rover is a cute little puppy and you love him dearly. But one day, he suddenly got lost. What would you have done?" She stood up with a worried look on her face and placed her hands on my shoulders. "Poor puppy, mommy. I would look for him. But I think I would cry first." I stroked my daughter’s face and shushed her. It looked like she was about to cry over a fictional puppy.

"So what did you feel?" I asked again. She pursed her lips and replied, "I felt sad. I think I would have loved the puppy. The puppy is mine. He shouldn’t be lost. I’m sure he would be looking for me too."

I nodded. "That’s how it felt like for me the other night, my love. You were like the most precious painting I could have ever done, but something or someone tried to spoil it. You’re more precious than a puppy, but seeing you in pain made me wish it was me instead." She hummed.

"It’s confusing," she giggled. "But it’s okay. I would have cried too if you ever got sick too. So don’t get sick, mom. I forbid you to be sick." I laughed at my daughter.

"Mommy won’t be sick," I kissed her on her forehead. "I still need to come up with better stories to tell you, my love."

(Source: artreture.com)

"I will not rid myself of anger for their fires will always remind me that purity exists for defiling and that all that is kind gradually turns to its selfish roots like a tamed beast to its fiery mother."

(Source: artreture.com)

"To love is poison. Tonight, I hate the world with the intensity of the love that I will always have for it."

(Source: artreture.com)

I waited by the sea. That was where we first met.

With hair all over my face, he came over to ask for my name, asking if it was my book that I dropped on the sand. I nodded. It was our favourite book. He went on length about the author and the significant parts of the book. I nodded enthusiastically, even if I only bought the book the day before.

We spoke of sunsets and how it was a beautiful introduction to the night. The night was black and full of dusty stars that pranced around each other. The breeze tickled spines and sent invisible spiders crawling upon skin, yet I enjoyed every shiver. He told me of tales when he won chess tournaments. Rubbing my arms as we rested on the sand, he told me it was in the tournament when he felt like he was a king. He won more than he lost, yet he took his losses as a symbol of advancement. He said in winning, nothing is gained. But when you lose, mistakes are highlighted and that is where scrutinisation comes in. He pressed me closer to his body and had my arms wrapped around my shoulders. I could smell the scent of his skin and hair. Leaning backward and gently nudging his cheek, I continued listening to his stories as he opened a chapter of how he got to learning the violin.

With hair all over my face, I drew on the sand as I waited for him. He was supposed to be here an hour ago. My watch has grown tired and refuses to move. The sun was almost gone and the moon was shyly presenting itself in between the clouds. The sea was calmer tonight, but the waves danced like younglings taking a swim for the first time. They crashed upon the shore, attempting to drown the distant vehicular notions with their songs. The lighthouses in a distance started to signal to each other. They reminded me of christmas lights. It was a beautiful sight to see. But I felt cold without his presence. The moon and stars are finally out. He is still absent.

I continued to wait by the majestic sea. The sea continued to wait with me.

(Source: artreture.com)