There will always be some wine

You must be wondering why I chose to hide behind the words, being someone today and someone else another. You must be wondering why I allowed you to find me if all I wanted was to hide. Hiding seemed to be the only option for some people found me here, those I know personally and suddenly and surprisingly, I was not able to name this place as my escape anymore.

The dilemma is, I have too much of ink inside my skin, waiting to spell words.
I remember the time when I struggled through the giant mountains for I couldn't bring myself to accept the change. I want to wake up before its too late for all I need now is change. A constant change may harm me, but I want to follow.

***
This place has always been welcoming, but I need to reside somewhere else. I might lock this place but I can never delete this. If you think you've read enough and want me to hear your words, be it any kind, you know my email address.
Sincere apologies. And a million rivers filled with love. We will meet. In one way or the other. If it comforts me enough, I will tell you my whereabouts some days later. Until then, take care. I loved all of you.

Lest We Forget

On most days, I come here and look forward to write; storms arrive in mind, handing me over the hallucinations each night keeps me awake with. I mean to go to bed every night but I end up drowning in the sea. It gets risky sometimes, being able to control one's own mind, controlling so much that it calms down to a level you would die at, had you not known swimming.

This day, particularly, is no different. The only difference is that I didn't listen to myself. It isn't easy, playing with time. I've known that. I fear getting comfortable with an empty heart; or at least knowing I own nothing other than a few cells of it. I fear the thoughts that roam free during a night, without telling me when they would return. Because when I am supposed to wait for them, demons haunt me. Because I think my thoughts would fight back once they return, but no, they don't. They're out of their cage. My dreams flying so high that my own gaze can't reach. Not until the next morning. And then I wake up, wake up to the sound of morning I've come to love. It replaces my empty mind with daylight. It showers me with hope.

Oldville

The Radio in the bedroom next to where I'm sitting at the moment just played your favourite song. I could hear it so clearly that I wished it wasn't so achingly good to ears.

Should I feel good that I heard that song after ages (not listened to it) or bad that it reminded of you?

It reminded of a thousand things that you perhaps were. It covered a distance and became enveloped in your voice, the way it might have sounded if you'd sung it.

The song was a black and white coloured, at times fading, short-film of how you were, overly nice. And how the chorus might have been ruled by the melody of your smile.

All the epiphanies can, tonight, make a way for me to go in a wonderland and become Alice for a while. But, old friend, I've grown up too quickly to let it happen just like that. Because there are these rough wooden trees at the very entrance, more than happy to tell me your whereabouts. You've changed the lane where you once lived and you don't live with the same flavour as before.

I was too young, remember?

Alice is too good for me to become, I am happy with my messy little heart.

Overly nice is what flowers are meant to be, darling. It took me long to know you were a thorn.