I find myself wondering at times,
At this state of mind,
Awake, Conscious ~
But of what?
How is it that falling asleep feels like waking up?
Why do I dread waking up,
And yet at the same time long for reprieve?
Why do these figments bloom like flowers in a glade?
Why do I see beyond the veil?

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Elusive words

I don’t think eloquence ever was the essence of my true voice.
You know, the voice you give your thoughts before they’re formed on your tongue.
The words were never the point, not by themselves.
The voice with which I imbue my work…
There’s a question, isn’t it?
Have I found my true voice?
In truth, I do not think of it as something to search for.
More, I believe, it is a matter of meeting my own expectations.
It is a matter of growing into my voice.
But who doesn’t sometimes yearn, in the privacy of their own mind, for those words that seem so hard to find?

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Whenever I get to a point,
Where I stand at that familiar crossroads,
I find myself drawn,
Into the long hours of early morn.
Sleep is not the Illusive mistress she often is made out to be,
She is persistent, mischievous,
And I find her wanting.
My disdain never goes unpunished,
For I still have choices to make,
Tasks to complete,
And for my transgressions ~
Fatigue is what I reap.

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The days number less than a week now, until she’s here and we’re reunited. Over the course of our relationship one thing I have realised is that the distance doesn’t always get to me, but when it does it hits hard.

I find the days right after departure stressful and it is here the animal I call anxiety rumbles in its sleep. The long months apart do not get to me in the same way, we are alike in that she and I. The days prior to arrival is when Anxiety wakes from its slumber, the long months then seem like some kind of incubation period during which a monster evolves.

The days number less than a week now. I find myself struggling with the everyday things, as if I’m overcome by a surreal blend of exhilaration and apathy. It has become a mantra of sorts, “less than a week now.”

To say that all of this has affected my sleep quite a bit would strike close to the truth, a broken rib has had a part in it too. Thus I have shine with my absence, but here’s to breaking that pattern.

After all, I’ll go crazy if I don’t stop counting the days.

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Fiction sneak peak: Gratitude

About: here’s a little peak into what I’m currently working on. The world in which the story is set is one filled with inequality, classism, racism and sexism. The mage Alia Tentras, one of the protagonists, finds herself on the receiving end of an unexpected expression of gratitude.

The sun was in the process of descending beyond the outer rim of the city as Alia made her way toward the Temple District. The light of the setting sun was setting the skies ablaze, painting the marbled world in the colours of fire. The beauty of the red and orange hues did not comfort her, however, instead it filled her with dread. It provoked recent memories of blood and she could not shake the foreboding feeling that had set up a rope-twining business in her stomach. In the pocket of her coat she carried a letter of summons signed with the seal of the the High Priestess that should grant her passage, should being the operative word. Her mind was still in a daze over what had happened, she could not quite accept the reality of what the evidence suggested. Evidence could be fabricated, after all, could it not?

Who are you trying to fool? she thought and let out a small, bitter laugh that was barely audible. What could she but doubt the irrefutable when the truth had such dire consequences? The dread had been there from the start, she realised, but she could never have imagined the scale of it all. It had never been about disgruntled dissidents using artifacts to nourish the embers of rebellion and stoke the fires of civil war as they had initially suspected, almost hoped. The knowledge Alia carried with her as she approached the Temple of Amara could set something far worse into motion. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and wrangled her emotions back into the cage from which they had escaped. Out of all the people in this city… why her?

Alia would have been furious, had she been able to feel at all. Emotion was a cloud she could not have muddling her judgement right now. It was obvious why they had chosen their targets. Even their precision was alarming. In Alia’s mind it painted a picture far worse than rebellion. The pieces of the puzzle she had were barely enough for her to make out the frame, but from that frame she could tell with absolute certainty that it would be a painting drenched in blood. She was forced to put aside her fears for the time being as the Temple District gates appeared before her. The Paladins standing guard immediately took note of her presence.

“She fits the description,” one said to the other after they had ordered her to stop. “Mage Tentras, was it?”

“I have a summons from the High Priestess,” Alia began and reached for the letter in her coat pocket.

“That will not be necessary,” the other one cut her off.

“The High Priestess has already sent word,” the first one droned. “Can’t for the life of me figure out what business a Mage could possibly have seeing the Divine, though.”

“But then again it is not your job to think,” the other one retorted. He gave Alia a curious look. “Come, I will escort you to the High Priestess.”

When they had walked for a short while and come out of hearing distance of the gates the paladin escorting her said, “When The High Priestess spoke to us about your coming I volunteered to be your escort for the duration of your stay in the district.”

Even though surprised, Alia did not answer him. Instead, she waited. Her intuition told her he had more to say. He looked as if though he was searching for the right words.

“I know we have our differences, your kind and mine, to say that we have never seen eye to eye would be an understatement.” He paused again, hesitating for a moment, as if arguing with himself. “My mother refused to tell me the circumstances surrounding my sister’s death, but I managed to get the details from Liaison Sayeh working with you and the Circle. I want to express my gratitude, thank you, Tentras.”

One of Alia’s eyebrows shot up in a surprised arch, and almost missed a step. Gratitude was the last thing she had expected to ever receive from a Paladin. “Your sister’s murder has not yet been solved,” she replied before she could stop the words rolling off of her tongue.

The Paladin averted his eyes and gazed upward at the fire-lit sky. “Yes, I know, but I was moved by the faith Liaison Sayeh had in your ability. It is faith I have come to share. If anyone can find the monster who murdered my sister it is you. Should you fail, well, then I will search myself and if the Goddess is willing find the answers you could not. Come, we are almost there. The High Priestess awaits you.”

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In the search of self

Perhaps it is a very human thing to do,
Striving toward something we don’t really want,
Thinking we want it.
I sometimes read about the journey,
You know, the quest with the capital Q.
“I want to find myself,” we seem to say,
And I find that I harbour similar desires,
Yet at the same time I hope I never do.

Say that I did find all of the fragments,
What then?
Would I be the stagnant sum total of my discoveries and nothing more?
If that be the case I would rather be ignorant and believe in endless evolution of self,
Than boxing myself into a definition conjured by a mind mostly incapable of fathoming the universe within self.
Hardly a line of poetry,
My words are not so inclined,
But a dance with thought,
To the beat of introspection~
Is more so imbued.

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I live therefore I ache

Pain comes in as many forms as you can imagine and hurts for just as many reasons. There’s the constant murmur of chronic pain that settles into numb bones like a persistent ache. There’s the stabbing jolts of damaged ribs as you breathe while trying to fall asleep. There’s the aching cheeks from smiling too intensely as you share a moment with your beloved. Physical pain that annoys, frustrate, and debilitate is perhaps the form I am most used to.

It is a strange thought that flutters around in my head as I find myself kept awake yet again by the aforementioned tormentors. These aching cheeks of mine, ache like my heart does and the cause is the same. As much as I would gladly embrace a good night’s worth of sleep for once there are certain kinds of pain I would not want to part with.

Truth be told, everyone suffers in their own ways, but doesn’t that mean we are pushing the boundaries? Some kinds of pain I believe is life’s way of telling us it recognises our efforts to live to the fullest – and at the same time advising us to slow down, before, you know, the moment passes and all that.

At least that is what I tell myself now that my ribs are keeping me awake and my mind wanders. Good night.

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