LOVE.

A word that comprises so many different forms of understanding...a word so powerful, it has staked its place throughout history to grace the greatest stories, the most tragic of tales or the most foolish of acts.

Can we really grasp the full significance of Love?

Selfless..unconditional...undying...for better or worse...frequent proclaimations of love heard, but how many actually live by them? I see more selfishness and self-centeredness instead. How many actually place their love ones before themselves? How many of us actually bother how the other person feel instead of ourselves? How many of us really know wat's love is all about?

Love is like having tat person being the epicenter of your everything and vice versa. You practically live and die by it....an irrational willingness to submit your life completely to the unpredictability of Love's nature. A purveyor of  'true' love..or a realistic trader of requited love? Sigh. (My mentor always says 'Love is love and Love will be love'.)

Maybe only fools can live to tell the greatest love stories, since they are foolish enough to disregard logicality and justification.

Are you foolish enough to love?

Ghosts

You are so haunted by fragments of truth, delibrate ignorance can't help anymore.

They are everywhere, aren't they?

Persistent shadows lurking among your memory, waiting to pounce on your disturbed mind. You can't fight them at all...the harder you try, the more they are going to choke you. Traces of past left their footprints silently, but your sensitivity manifested them into your worse nightmares. The mind screams for a reprieve, begging happiness to stop it from wandering.

But the ghosts are everywhere. And they remind you from time to time.

You can do nothing about it. You can't kill ghosts. They are long dead and buried, tucked away with Time. But they are trapped within yourself, you allow them to live on and allow yourself to wallow in their shadows. And they will not spare you any mercy.

They are everywhere. You can run, but you can never hide. And they are going to make your life a living hell.

Soon you will be a ghost yourself. Soon.

Keep Quiet.

I dunno wat to say anymore.

Delirium.

Delirium is sudden severe confusion and rapid changes in brain function that occur with physical or mental illness.

I wonder if I am edging towards mental dysfunction.

For all I know, I might juz be hanging by my last ounce of sanity. I move between various state of minds and experience drastic mood swings so frequently, I am losing sense of my identity. I feel the lurking devil within growing...instigating me to unleash the violence capped inside. I vision scenes of me killing people and actually feel good about it. Their pain comfort me and I love the sight of their blood draining them lifeless slowly. It is so real. I can almost smell their blood on my hands.

But no. It's juz another dreadful dream. I wake up sometimes and shrudder at the thought of myself becoming a monster. Is that me? Is that what my subconscious secretly wanted to do?

I am upset definitely, by the injustice of Life to befall some...while allowing some to get away. My righteousness is warped by the inconsistency of this flawed system, prompting me to dish out 'justice' on my perceived value. In my system, it's very simple. Either you are alive or you are dead, and many of us do not deserve to live at this moment. I will pardon or condemn you according to my values. I will melt out a punishment so severe, you wish you were dead. But I will keep you juz alive, so that you can go thru pain again and again.

Scary? Yes. Sadistic? No. It's the least some of these bastards deserve. Perverse? Yes. And it's very disturbing.

No one is greater than the law and killing bastards doesn't relieve me of a criminal offence. I can't endorse my motives based on the disliking for those people. Maybe that's why those recurring dreams. Becos only in this virtual realm, can my sinful deeds be accomodated and sentence those on my death list to living hell. Only by reenacting these gory dreams, will my frustrations be contained under a rational lid.

But it's so, so dangerous. There's no knowing when/how this lid will open.

Past tense, present tense.

Staring out the window, I hear chirping birds welcoming the day. The cool peace of morning beckons a fresh start...traces from the night before, all but buried with the passing of Time. This is the routine of Life, going ahead with no sympathy for our past. Memories reminded our deeds...though some choose to remember, some choose to forget. But there's no denying the imprints on Time, for she had been there to see. It's an irreversible mark on a lifeline. And it's not a death sentence. Every face conceals a journey with tales to spare.

You seek at your own discretion, some tales are not meant for the weak to listen. Harping on them does not change events from the past. Instead, you get swallowed by the brutality of honesty and lose yourself in the present.

The present will become a past once it's gone and I dun wan a lifetime of regrets.

Dun be silly anymore.