2 Apr 2011


It might be a fear. A fear from getting drifted somewhere. To this remote area where you find it hard to hit a home run. It is spacious and neat. Maybe full of life or maybe not. I can not quite decide for that matter. I swing between this thought and the other. In sparks of realization, dreams and hopes. I try to moderately calibrated for the variation. Not successful at it so far. Again, not sure if I enjoy the swings but at least am aware of it. Can not deny that I am very lazy with it. With finding its real cause. I maybe know and sometimes touch on it, but it seems to be a little farther than I want to dig at this time. I do not know why though.

You know when there is a deep nostalgia that scavenge in these areas that are the most tender. It does not bleed though. Leaves no scars. Only untraceable pain. Haunting you. Associated with every deep smile or laugh or feel of love. As if it is a reminder of some sort. A ghost from the medieval time that is wearing a black head gear. Pretty scary. Even if this ghost is busy haunting others, it succeeded to leave you in worry. To engrave its presence.

I can allocate this ghost. I can trace it. But again, too unwilled to face it and look to it in the face. I preferred to see its reflection but not to just turn my head and face it. I know one day I will.


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