MADEMOISELLE
August 06, 2018
This is me in my selfless, most honest, most vulnerable form confessing in blank, white spaces that I could and probably never would in a lifetime chance upon the right words to completely encapsulate the oddity of my feelings that come and go and stay. Yet despite being slightly off and occasionally inaccurate, these words that come out of me still tell the truth. They allow me to be sometimes helpless. Often raw. But always genuine.
Interestingly, this space is created to always remind myself of that— that although words are apparently never enough, I still do find comfort and refuge blurting them out in existing sufficient ways I know how.
This is for the unwanted thoughts that all too suddenly creep in late at night, and would still haunt me come morning. For the ideas that come with cold showers or during long, silent car rides, that lingered and waited— patiently waited— for the right moment to be noticed, fully comprehended, and finally, now, written down.
This is not a great piece of literature nor a philosophy the world would revere. This is to merely allow countless thoughts to freely wander like gypsy souls, and seep adrenaline through these spaces. Or solely to fulfill a simple desire of preserving a euphoric memory that had no tangible souvenir. This is for nostalgia— an archive of blissful days and a memento of all the ups and downs that would serve a refreshing trip down memory lane years from now.
This is me letting go of pain in the easiest, most peaceful, least extravagant way I know how. When sleepless nights have become lonely mornings, when salty tears can no longer numb the sorrows, and when grief slowly devours my brittle soul alive; words in writing, surprisingly, help exhaust the negative energy off my broken chambers.
This is me allowing myself to breathe from my seemingly restless mind. This is for the times I choose to take a step back to embrace my own realities— the reality that my thoughts are almost always strangled; that my heart contradicts my mind at most times; and that my life, just as much as the world, is actually a bit messy, too.
I am no good of a writer who seeks a sanctuary in this personal space. But I am hopeful that in my possibly incorrect grammar and complex sentences, maybe, you find your solace, too. That you may grasp a bit of love, light, wisdom, hope, and inspiration through my prose, all of which is unearthed in my sometimes cluttered thoughts.
Here's to unfinished sentences, word vomits, and meaningful clauses. Here's to the little world I created for myself but would gladly and with so much pleasure share with all of you. Here's to you who willingly spent a few minutes reading this— come through!
This space is mine, as much as this is yours.
0 comments