Death To Adverbs?

It’s large and bright, but still somehow warm and cosy.

There aren’t too many people, which is relieving, but there are far too many tables to choose from now, which isn’t.

The smile on the wide face of the cheery waitress is welcoming, and I’m hard-pressed to not return the gesture as I find a table by the window.

When she brings the coffee over, it’s entrance is hailed by a thick, bitter, and absolutely brilliant scent that makes my mouth water.

She’s careful with the tray, as if she’s afraid that she’ll spill something if she’s too fast, but when she brings it over, all is forgotten and I revel in the warmth of the beverage.

The cafe is quiet for the most part, and when I leave, it is with a light peace inside me that I’ve not quite felt before.

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Serially Lost | The Light Goes Out

Some might say that sentiment is a defect of our thoughts; that we should not try to latch on to and keep hold of what has already come and gone. They might say that whatever it is, has already served its purpose.

For the most part, I would agree.

Everything is easier when we don’t think about what we’ve already done. It does not mean that we shouldn’t learn from our mistakes, it simply means that we should keep moving forward, and not try to stick ourselves back into the past.

So it is sentiment, then, that keeps me writing this post, because it has been a while now, a few years, since this particular event occurred, and I am simply, defectively, unable to release it.

Many people say that life is a journey, or in this case, allow me to use a description to help move us along.

Many say that life is like a train ride.

There are many stops on the way, and many new people enter the carriage that is your life. There are some relative constants; parents, siblings, relatives, but there is one constant that, to me, most travellers forget about.

It is your pet.

It doesn’t matter if you had a healthy, vivacious white cat or a sickly puppy while growing up. It is my belief, that having a pet teaches one to care for something, someone, other than oneself. I’ve heard of many who’ve said that their pets keep them company when they cry, hear the complaints that they have, and snuggle when they need someone to hug.

They show us love even when we don’t return the favour, and even if it isn’t love, it is a feeling quite similar to it.

I had a dog growing up. She was a sickly puppy, and the person who gave her to me tried to give me her healthier, more robust, brother, but I refused. I took the puppy who couldn’t walk right for days after her brother was scampering clumsily around the house, and I grew up alongside it.

When she … left, it was similar to the train slowing down, the lights in the carriage flickering uncertainly, and every other passenger suddenly becoming a complete stranger. It felt like the train was a second away from crashing head-first into a barrier, but then I realised later, that the train was merely making another stop.

And at this stop, my little light got off.

I knew … know … that if I got off the train, I won’t be allowed back on. And oh, how I tried to get that train moving again.

It’s been almost three years now, and every time I remember her white-and-brown fur, the train threatens to crash again.

Embrace The World In Grey

If I write this list to celebrate three songs that I’ve fallen in love with, then I will be hard-pressed to make a decision.

I will mention that this list is in no particular order, or perhaps, by writing them down, I will discover which means more to me than the others.

Thinking about my favourite songs now, I would be lost if I wasn’t to mention this one in particular. It’s an old choice, one that I’ve learned, mastered, and twisted on the piano since learning it almost five (or maybe even six) years ago. The title I remember is ‘Valse Lente’ by Vaughan Williams and though I never did, and quite possibly never will know what it means, I doubt that I’ll forget how to play what I consider as my all-time favourite piece.

The next song, I believe, would most certainly have to be one that is a more recent acquisition. ‘Shadow of the Day’ by Linkin Park. It isn’t a new song, and I will say that I don’t care much for the newer songs, but it is one that strikes something deep inside me every time I listen to it. Yes, the song might not be speaking of the most pleasant of things, but it is beautiful in it’s conception and melody, and one that I find … soothing, and one that has helped me through a lot.

The third song. Ah, there are quite a number that vie for a place on this list, and there are many that could replace this song, I think, on this list. But the fact is that I have listed this song here, and it is Ludovic Einaudi’s ‘I Giorni’. It is a soft, simple piano melody that brings my mind to peace and calms me down at the worst of time. It brings me to a different state of mind, and lifts me from the one I normally burrow myself into.

Absolute Beauty

[Prompt]

When one wishes to debate about such a topic, one must always return to the simplest of questions regarding it, which, in this case, also seems to be the hardest.

What is Beauty?

Is it a particular brand of appearance? Or is it merely something that is pleasing to the eye?

Is it something that is pleasing to a certain group of persons, or is it something that describes anything that anyone finds especially pleasing?

In the landscape where I paint my own world, there is no absolute beauty.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder; as the famous saying goes, and I, for one, full-heartedly agree.

Beauty is in what one sees in the world, and what one sees might not be what others see in its stead.

Perhaps I find the clouds beautiful because I see faces and brush-strokes in them, and maybe you find the trees beautiful because you see life and warmth and home in them.

Maybe I don’t find the rivers beautiful, because all I see is running water and fish that aren’t the colourful creatures we made them out to be in our childhood, but perhaps you find the rivers beautiful because you see flashes of sunlight and the fish that dart from invisibility to visibility.

And maybe I find beauty in pain, and silence.

And just maybe, you find it in happiness and love.

A Room With A View | A House With A Soul

It’s a cold place, the one I wish to return to. It’s cold, covered with plastic, and layered with enough dust to kill. I don’t dare to take my slippers off, as I’ve been taught to, when I enter through the door, and there are clear imprints on the ground where I’ve stepped.

One part of me wants to run down for the brooms and clean the entire room until it’s as bright as the day you left it.

The other part of me yearns to move on from that same day.

I pull the sheet off one of the sofas, and drop on the soft fabric covering. Despite the musty smell and the awkward feel of the plastic pressing into one of my legs, I lean back, and I remember the last time we’d sat on this together.

That day had been a cold day too, and you’d oh-so-politely offered to ‘warm me up’, which meant that you’d thrown your arms around me and pinned me to the sofa. I can still remember the way your legs had tangled with mine, and the way your coat felt when you’d pulled it around me soon after; playful, boyish smile fading from your lips. I distinctly remember the way I’d brushed your short hair aside and asked you what was wrong.

And that was when you told me.

I can remember the hurt, pain, and utter betrayal I felt after that. When I stand up, I can see the marks and dents I’d left in the walls that night; throwing anything in arms’ reach. Now, when I look back, all that anger was for naught, because I also remember crying the very next day and hugging you … pleading for you to not leave.

Not that you had an actual ticket for where you were going.

A few more days, and I was alone, just like I am now.

It seems almost like a fantasy now, a half-remembered dream, whenever I try to look back and see your smile. It’s been five years since then, and there’s not a day that passes that I don’t fail to live up to your last request. I haven’t gotten rid of all our memories together, and I most certainly haven’t moved on.

How can I when the place where our souls can meet is still here?

Unlock the Mind | A Window To The Depths Of Hell

Sometimes, I tell myself that seeing my name beside certain others shouldn’t be something that should be seen.

I say this not because I see myself above them in any sense, but because I am not worthy of being in their presence in that sense.

I see myself beneath almost all others; I see myself in deepest pit of hell and in the most fearsome furnace one could think of. I don’t think I’d ever change this perception of myself; I’ve never been one for change in addition to being a creature of great habit.

I thrive in patterns and familiarity despite telling myself that I am one for adventure and one for new things.

I like patterns and trends; I like knowing and reading people when I see them, and I most certainly like knowing that I can quite possibly deduce something from someone before they have the chance to say anything.

It is as they say; you can change your appearance, but not your nature.

Or do they not say that at all?

It’s an odd thing, perception. It changes, depending on mood, age, character, and even something as menial as the weather. I say this not because I mean that your perception of your environment changes, because that most certainly does, but because your perception of other people and reading their character from the length of their hair and the creases in their clothes changes with every small move you make.

My perception of myself is quite possibly the one thing that wouldn’t change, or at least not by much.

It is something I do not review often (enough), kind of like the same way I don’t keep a mirror in my bedroom just so that I won’t have to look at myself when I walk past it.

My perception of others, however, is something I try to make in the same presence and frame of mind.

Most people might describe it as judging the next person just because she wears a complete set of clothes; make-up, jewellery … the works, but I say that it is more of taking notes from the things that others (I assume) mostly don’t notice (or at least, they don’t notice it at first).

I need warning before making contact with others; warning on how to carry myself, and whether I can be a semblance of my own character, or if I have to create a mask that will satisfy this particular person.

It might be the wrong way to deal with the world, but it is the way I do it … not the most effective, but at least I don’t have much of a trail of displeased people weighing me down.