Knives. Knives. Knives.

I want to scream.

Is this the feeling I need to walk with?
Tell me why I can't be there where you are

Not in a million years did I think I would be quoting the Backstreet Boys. But it's really Flight and Falling that comes to mind. The cool breeze of evening Petra, where the wonderful singers of Voces Nordicae turned the popular song into a powerful acapella, bringing every word to life.
"I don't want to hear your own voice; I want to hear a choir," she would always say.

I'm back on stage and in uniform, where individuality is forced to die and all I am is the part I'm playing, and all I'm worth is that which I contribute to the whole. Yesterday, there was uniqueness behind my conformity. Today, I'm just another human being living her day one have-to after the other, fulfilling one obligation before the next, struggling desperately to get over this horrible tightness that's squeezing her chest.

Staying up all night
Trying to paint you from memory
But you're too beautiful

In my head, the song was calm, light, reflective, major. But your music and your vocals turned it passionate, strong, and minor.

I'm dancing alone again.
I wanted to dance with you.

Why was I always afraid of giving in to the beauty of absolute togetherness? Why did I desperately cling to what I thought I wanted even when it proved to have nothing to do with what I actually wanted? Why was I afraid to abandon my thoughts even after realizing it was only on paper that I yearned to live them?

Why did I long for aloneness even when I hadn't completely stepped out of it?

Here it is again, my aloneness... and it's stinging lonelier than ever.

Don't erase me.
I don't wanna erase you. I wanna let you fill me and run through me. I wanna carry on the change you brought in me. I will make sure life never loses all the colors you gave it...
Your colors.


You're beautiful.

Bitterness.

Colorlessness.

You say you'd rather give up today for a tomorrow that gives it all its meaning.
I say I'll give up a non-existent tomorrow for a today that I own.

You say you can't walk knowing the road leads to a dead end.
I say I don't care about the end; I want to enjoy the walk itself.

You say you can't keep what you know you'll let go of.
I say I don't want to own what I have; I just want to seize it and sniff enough of its soul until it circulates in my blood and finds home in my cells.


Stay with me.

I wanna be the sprinkles of spice on top of your cake, the caramel syrup in your morning latte.

I don't wanna be the flour. I don't wanna be the water.

Mine breaks by your words.

I have been running away from the implicit confessions. I refused to believe they spoke to me. They probably didn't, after all, because what they really spoke to was a thought, a soul, a beautiful illusion created by words.

I am not my words.

I am not my thoughts.

I don't know you, so I filled the gaps in my knowledge with pieces of my own self. I took the words and let them swell enough to fill the holes. I created a beautiful mirror.
I don't wanna be your beautiful mirror. And I have been unable to write because of the fear that my words were slowly weaving it. I tried to step back and hoped that in silence, I would stop existing to you- I, the thought, to you, the real person.

I am not a soul. My soul is just a word for something in my body. The more I ascend, the less real I feel.
My soul is my lightness, my negative sign.

I need to be heavy.