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 “Yellow paper and a red pen” she said.  “Write with a pencil,” he said, “it’s smoother on paper”. Write what comes to mind as it comes to mind, that’s what I imagine Virginia would’ve said. A stream of consciousness, either written or spoken out loud, is sometimes all you need to see.

Dizzy and foggy as your days. Using past words because you have not yet received today’s. Smaller, neater handwriting that perhaps says something about one’s soul. One’s actions speak, and what does this say?

I feel myself trapped in a room with yellowish wallpaper that’s doing me nothing but driving me mad. I feel myself a part of every book ever written; I am the characters in some movie that I call my life; I am the very ink used in writing each character ever created. I am neither here nor there; my self is stuck in the middle, where it actually belongs. I am neither a neat handwriting, nor am I a strong, bold one. I am nothing. I feel nothing. I think of nothing.

I breathe nothing.

My soul is detached from myself. I do not want this life. I do not need this life. I cannot go on with something I cannot understand or even seem to be able to get at any time in the future. Is the answer in finding someone to be by your side? Does the answer lie in being alone, facing the world courageously and fearlessly? Does it lie in fear or bravery? Do the two really cancel each other out? What might my handwriting say about me?

He said, and that’s all he’s ever said: “Be brave”. And perhaps I needed the reminder, we both did. “Kindred spirits” I told him. I knew it the very first moment my eyes were set on him. But “him”?  Who is he, anyways?

Death comes in all shapes and forms, but today, today life has come to us.

But what is “us”? Do I have to make it a character here so that this, the writing, could have some taste? (Note how the handwriting has changed)

Where is the "us" today? Where are we today?

Watching the grizzlies, trying to save them from human guns. We are unarmed ourselves. We need no weapons. Thirteen years would walk by us under the same sun. Thirteen years would be sufficient to qualify us for our guarding role. Thirteen years would be enough to get us killed.

The grizzlies would avenge from the whole mankind through us. Every morning we’d sense the sadness of farewells till the last one hits us. Thirteen sad farewells leading to the end. But the end is already inevitable, my darling. Sooner or later, we believed, the ruptured chrome plus the deep unknown would turn our insides out and our heads would face down, that’s what you told me anyways.

We do not mind paying the price for the injustice ever caused to the grizzlies. That’s a price we need to pay. We acknowledge and accept. That’s all what we’ve known, and we know nothing.

And I don’t know anything
except that
green is so green.

Even greenery was lost from our minds. All we’ve ever known is that there’s life, and it was haunting whatever creatures living at the end of the world.

Would you watch the grizzlies with me, my darling? For I feel so immersed in life that I can finally feel that I can see. Yet I am blind. My sight is so strong that I have lost it altogether.

[in a disrupted handwriting] We are all connected and hence you need to pay before it is too late and someone else would.

You once told me we’d watch the end of the world, but the world is already ending for so long now.

Darwish, to when shall languages live and die?
Cavafy, to when shall our minds moulder like this?
Virginia, sweet Virginia, to when shall we run after a non-existent lighthouse?

Shallow, superficial and untrue. Words scattered because they’ve asked to be scattered.
Here
There
And hopefully
Everywhere. 

inspirational song(s):
Do Not Let Your Spirit Wane - Gang of Youths 
South London Forever - Florence + the Machine 
Thirteen Sad Farewells - Stu Larsen