Around & Around.

"Oh, It is so pretty from way up there. We talked about how the lights from the buildings and cars seemed like reflections of the stars that shined out so pretty and bright, that night."

-Flight Of The Conchords.

Change is the only constant, it's true. But sometimes the universe gives you the keys to visit yesterday. And from the window where I stand right now, first love still looks as beautiful as it used to.

xo.

It flows through me, burning my insides.

Churning, changing, cleaning.

I am intoxicated.

Love will always be my favourite drug.

Sleepsong.

Heaven can wait we’re only watching the skies

Hoping for the best but expecting the worst,

Are you gonna drop the bomb or not?

Let us die young or let us live forever,

We don’t have the power but we never say never.

-Alphaville.

My body's moving. A warm comfortable breeze brushes against my arm like a scorned lover with too much pride to stop and say hello.

I feel my past falling away from me, little chunks of disillusionment that melt into the porous earth, ready to soak it all up for me. I'm losing what until recently I thought was everything that I am. I'm losing the amalgamation that I had formed between my bending heart, my bad decisions and my crusade for freedom.

I fear that I'm losing my youth.

People have a habit of remaking their memories, of polishing their past or modifying the nuances of nostalgia. Our autobiographical memory, they say, leads us to believe over time that our past really was better than our lives of the present.

But I refuse to forget any of it. The uncertainty, love, melancholy, sympathy, lucidity, vulnerability, strength and loyalty.

The villains and the heroes.

The beauty of the world through eager eyes.

The beauty of being young.

Young, forever.

Pour Out Your Soul.

[Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists. It is real. It is possible. It is yours.] — Ayn Rand

A nearby newsstand stocked papers splattered with articles on disease, demise and the degenerates. Masked faces had overrun the city as people tried to protect themselves from death and from each other. I wondered nervously as I stood at Platform 5 and waiting for my train to arrive,

When did something as natural as breathing begin to invite distrustful stares?

This modern world is breaking me.

My dreams are poisoned with dark post apocalyptic scenery – Of ruined cities standing sentinel above me with blackened smog comprising an empty sky. Of rampant, smothering decadence. Of air permeated with so much overwhelming apathy, that it saturates your pores, leaking into your brain and eventually pouring out of your heart.

Indifferent citizens, putrid politicians and obsolete systems of governance are dragging all of us into the graves that we are too lazy to pull ourselves out of.

The world is becoming a melodramatic melody stuck on repeat.

In this modern world, where everything is a click away and love is on speed dial, why are we growing more and more distant from each other? In a world where loneliness kills more people than road accidents, why do so many people choose to go to sleep alone?

Why is love on the downlow, when it’s the only thing that can save us from ourselves?

It’s time for more than revolution. It’s time for more than just photoshopping this picture we’ve been presented with, of a world collapsing onto itself.

It’s time for renaissance and rebirth.

It’s time for purity and passion.

It’s time for a new era of love, of life and of liberty.

Insatiable.

"And I do believe it’s true

That there are roads left in both of our shoes

So brown eyes I hold you near

Cause you’re the only song I want to hear

A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere."

-Death Cab For Cutie.

I am on a familiar rooftop, monochrome against a dark blue streamlined caricatured sky. Brilliant cut diamonds fall from the sky rhythmically in front of cardboard cutout clouds. The wind whips at our faces as we stare in silence at the tears falling from the heavens.

At the end of this week, time will unravel another vital cord that makes up the fabric of my life, leaving me with fragments and disjointed recollections of a quicksand memory. Another box of old pictures, another set of hangouts haunted by the ghosts of yesterday, another superfluous cut scene in this preprogrammed sequence of events, another good guy lost to the insatiable. One more time I will have to revise myself, one more time I will have to change direction, one more time I will have to forget.

Another round of Alter-Adhere-Abandon.

Are you and I perchance caught up in a dream from which we have not yet awakened?, mused Chuang Tzu. Perhaps someday we will finally be released from this burdonous wheel of time. Till then, I endure with the hope that eventually, I will be immune to change.

In the meantime, we’ll laugh like we always do, love like we always will and pretend this is all just a pulp fiction interlude.