Poem, Prose, Shorts

A Letter To You

I want to write you a letter.

At first the feeling dawned upon me like sweet morning dew gracing the beautiful green of trees and plants everywhere. The colours became clearer, the sounds became sharper, and deep within me, I knew I was dead certain that I want to write you a letter.

But I am stuck.

You see, I find myself dangling on the edge of possibilities of what the letter could entail just for you, but still left indecisive as to what would be best.

Do I write to lift your spirit up? To tell you how life, while complex in itself, is simple when left in the hands of your Creator? To motivate, teach, push and assist you through all that might hinder your progress? I recall the day we spoke last, about dreams and goals and I recall you being just as indecisive as I am right now. You remained unsure as to what path to take. Thinking back, maybe I should have nudged you down what I thought would have been better for you. Then again, I wonder… would you have been offended if I did that? I don’t know. Hindsight.

Do I write to describe and display my vulnerability to you? give you the potential to wound me deep with your pen and word? Do I tell you the things that make me weak? the things that make me afraid? Do you remember when we had the discussion we had about the mistake I made when I was relatively young and naive? I had gotten so relaxed in flesh that I didn’t see the pitfall in front of me. My goodness, did I fall.

It’s all hilarious now when I look back, but my goodness was I afraid. Of consequences, of future, of self. Hindsight.

Do I write to address the issues of the heart and how I feel about you? Will you accept it this second time round? Will you forgive me for writing it, as opposed to saying it? Because my oral articulation suffers when incoherence sets in from anxiety pressure. We did this dance once, back when we were younger. Maybe I shouldn’t write it, as that led to you raising me up from my metaphorical knee and softly rejecting my advances. Maybe I’m still naive. Maybe it’s not meant to be. Maybe it was fleeting.

As more possibilities cloud my thought-space, I find myself still considering what would best be put in the letter that you’d read addressed from me.

I’m still unsure as I realise I can write about the dreams I dream about.

I can write about the fantasies I play out in my head, all colourful, diverse and ultimately expensive enough to demand a hollywood budget.

I can write about my memories and show you how much nostalgia I carry within this body of mine.

or maybe…

…maybe I should write to leave a piece of myself with you.

Can I…? Can I write a letter to you to remember me by? A letter to leave a piece of myself with you, should the day come when I am gone and ‘we’ are no more…

The future is always filled with uncertainty, so I can’t promise I’ll always be here, no matter how much I will love to be. Having lost a lot of friendships along the way, I can’t guarantee the same won’t happen to us.

It may even be out of my hands, as everything the Creator wills, happens for a reason.

I think I’m going to write a letter to you.

I just don’t think you will see it.


I Am Actually Bored…

…and it is with such boredom that I have come to realise a few things which are suddenly playing over and over in my head like a cheaply made, gruesome horror movie… 

Boredom sucks.

That state where you have no clue what to do with your time, so you sit by the TV or by the Laptop and watch as you age away doing absolutely nothing worthwhile… The time where you suddenly get lazy, unmotivated, hungry, slothful…even your brain refuses to do work so you end up indulging in stupid, foolish, mind-wandering, finger-typing, internet-trolling that you eventually regret as soon as the boredom regresses. 

Yeah, Boredom sucks…

Worse yet, Boredom is probably one of the most dangerous things out there that the majority have refused to notice. And I say majority, because heck, I just finally figured it out today. Boredom makes you do things, say things that frankly, are not you. You indulge in a craving for mischief that more times than not, you can’t really explain why you did it, except for the fact that it seemed to assist in killing time. We get so into the boredom that we shirk duties and hobbies and knowledge only for us to regret that later on in the future. We’d miss opportunities and chances to work towards the success we love to dream off, only so that we can relish in the YOLO moment we think will help us enjoy/utilise our boredom. We break hearts, make lies, destroy lives because we have nothing better to do.


It might not happen physically…

but ladies and gentlemen.

Boredom kills. 

Think about that.