I Wallow

nếu anh không ở đó

“những niềm đau mà không mũi khâu nào vá nổi

em dần học cách để cho làn khói đi sâu vào hai lá phổi.”

- Em Không Khóc - buitruonglinh, Vũ Phụng Tiên

từ ngày anh đi, tôi sống vật vờ, sống không bằng chết.

tôi thử bật lửa để châm điếu thuốc lá mà vẫn sợ làm bỏng tay, dù việc tôi sắp làm còn đáng sợ hơn nhiều. chẳng thèm can tâm nữa, tôi kẹp đầu thuốc lá giữa đôi môi nứt nẻ. vẫn ổn. tôi thử rít một hơi như mẹ tôi thường làm. ho sặc sụa, nhưng vẫn ổn. kẹp lại đầu thuốc lá, tôi ráng hít một hơi dứt khoát hơn.

làn khói bay bổng theo tương lai của tôi, lên tít những đám mây xám xịt trên trời. mưa sắp đổ. thà lang thang ngoài đường còn hơn về nhà. thôi thì mưa cứ đổ đi, dù gì mọi thứ cũng đã từng sụp đổ hết lên đầu tôi rồi.

đôi lúc tôi nghĩ, anh và tôi giống nhau vì chúng ta đánh mất tất cả. anh và tôi khác nhau vì anh bỏ đi để tìm lại tất cả, tôi thì chẳng thể tìm nữa.

vì tất cả đối với tôi, là anh.

tôi không muốn tự nhận bản thân bị mắc phải những căn bệnh tâm lý. đơn giản vì tôi cảm thấy nếu tôi làm vậy, mọi chuyện cũng chẳng khá hơn là bao, mà còn kết nối tôi với sự đời. sự đời của tôi luôn quay cuồng, chóng mặt lắm. cách tốt nhất là lơ đi. dù ai cũng bảo đừng làm thế. đúng, tôi sẽ đối mặt với đời nếu tôi muốn sống, nhưng tôi chỉ thích được tồn tại. đời của tôi, tôi sống hay tồn tại, liên can gì đến họ?

mẹ tôi nặng tình, theo kiểu bệnh hoạn. bà ấy thích cảm giác si mê cha tôi, theo đuổi, rồi kết cục bị ruồng bỏ bà cũng thích nốt. nhưng bị bỏ lại với con nợ này thì không. nên một cách nào đó, bà cố gắng biến tôi thành con rối trong vở kịch cấm chiếu của mình chỉ để thoả mãn sự vui thích méo mó. rốt cuộc, ai ai cũng vì niềm ham muốn được vui vẻ của bản thân mà đánh mất chính mình trong vòng xoáy không đáy của khoái cảm. trong đó, lí trí luôn vắng mặt.

tôi tôn sùng lí trí, căm hận cảm xúc. nhưng tôi vẫn là người. tôi không ngăn được nước mắt trôi.

đã lâu rồi, niềm vui và nỗi buồn không ghé thăm tôi. tôi vẫn gặp chúng trong ác mộng, nơi tôi bị chúng giày vò. khi tôi thức dậy sau khi mơ thấy chúng, tôi tự thấy mình đang nằm ngửa, mặt đối diện với trần nhà tối tăm. tôi nhìn trần nhà chằm chằm. cũng không biết tại sao. chỉ thấy trần nhà thật tốt bụng, bởi nó luôn bao bọc tôi khỏi ánh nắng chói chang. bóng tối dù sao cũng chưa ghê sợ bằng tia nắng. nó chiếu rọi vô vàn khuyết điểm con người. càng chiếu, càng thấy tởm lợm.

còn ý nghĩa gì khi niềm vui và nỗi buồn, ánh sáng và bóng tối đều có vị đắng như nhau?

khi tâm trí tôi trở về trạng thái trống rỗng thờ ơ, tôi trèo lên gác thượng, nơi tôi hay thích tưởng tượng là đồi gió hú, là sắc xanh mơn mởn, là sự sống đâm chồi; cố quên đi sự thật là tất cả trong tầm mắt tôi chỉ là bầu trời choáng ngợp, dưới mông là thành bê tông cứng và xám và chân đung đưa giữa sự sống và cái chết. đã bao lần tôi cố thử, chỉ để nhận ra tôi chưa thể chết được. tôi - trong vô thức - chưa cho phép bản thân kết liễu cuộc đời. điều đó làm tôi chán nản tới lúc tôi tự ngẫm ra lí do thoả mãn câu hỏi vì sao. lúc ấy, bốn bức tường bao quanh và những suy nghĩ vẩn vơ giúp tôi nhận ra rằng: tôi không muốn khi tôi chết thì chẳng có ai nhớ đến tôi như cách anh đã có thể nhớ khi vẫn còn bên tôi.

anh bảo tôi anh có "nhiều suy nghĩ gắn liền với nhiều cảm xúc khác nhau" về tôi. tôi hỏi ý anh là gì. anh lắc đầu, cười nhẹ. "không nói nên lời được đâu. anh nhờ giấy bút nói hộ nhé?"

anh đã từng viết nhiều bài thơ dành tặng tôi. đọc thơ anh, tôi đã từng rung động biết bao vì những con chữ ấy đã lay chuyển tâm hồn tôi. chúng truyền đến trái tim tôi từng cung bậc cảm xúc mà anh nhắc tới, dạt dào và êm dịu. tôi đã yêu thích chúng đến mức khi tôi nghe loáng thoáng giai điệu của một bản tình ca trên radio, tôi lại nhớ đến áng văn bay bổng của anh. theo giai điệu, tôi tự nâng bản thân mình lâng lâng lên chín tầng mây. lúc ấy, sự đời nhoà đi, chỉ còn lại vài đốm sáng sặc sỡ. nổi bật là thế nhưng chúng vô vị so với từng lời yêu của anh đang được tôi phát đi phát lại trong đầu. tôi đã nghiền ngẫm thơ anh như một thú vui hằng ngày như thế.

và khi anh quay đi, anh để lại cho tôi những dòng thơ làm bạn. đã quá quen với thú vui hằng ngày kia, tôi không thể nào yêu được người khác, dù cho người ấy có là thi sĩ giỏi nhất đi chăng nữa. nỗi đau mất anh khiến tôi không muốn chấp nhận sự thật rằng tất cả tôi cần không phải là một thi sĩ, chẳng phải một khổ thơ tình hay một bài ca lãng mạn.

và tôi càng lún sâu vào khổ đau vì đã biết, tôi chỉ cần anh, anh, anh.

sorrows inside

part 1/4 of mourning your reciprocation

the sun was shining brighter than ever at noon. this morning, my therapist told me to focus on the way it shines slim, curved lines of yellow on the pristine pebbles along the street as i walked back home. i was doing a good job at it, if you don’t count a few minor distractions like a swaying hyacinth and a snowy husky dog that served a pang to my head as a forceful reminder of how much you loved them. but i left it there. it should be there, and shouldn’t have travelled down, stuck at the base of my throat before sending a drastic fall. but it did, when i crawled on the crimson bench alone against the white walls of a shelter that i was supposed to spend dreamlike moments in with you. but it did, tugging a tumultuous crash to my aching heart. my heart pulsed once. badump. medicinal chemicals overlapping hints of metallic blood filling my nostrils. twice. badump. cardboard boxes weighing on my hands nearly as heavy as my heart was, with no one to share. thrice. badump. fingers smearing red paints on this very bench that would definitely illicit disapproving sighs from you because red on white stands glaring to the eyes, and i might’ve considered changing it just to suit your tastes if you were here. but ifs are never realities. this reality takes shape in the day you met me again, with a foreign look, almost a sick politeness in place of that affection you once held in your eyes, preserved for only me when it was just us two.

after that fated meeting, i indulged in my overwhelming moods a little. i painted this bench red when i decided on dedicating it to be all that my bleeding heart is, for it shows off shades of uneven reds, wounded with imperfections and lonesome against the white walls of our dreams behind my back. still, by allowing constant turns of my head, i’ve been associating you with everything around me. it’s an act that should be forbidden if i want you and i to truly move on. then again, if isn’t this reality. i want to feel sorry for myself, this time, for being unable to make that if into a reality.

the shade casts a looming sorrow on my hunched figure: your heart is obliviously white to an incomplete crimson that is mine.

forgotten memoirs

part 3/4 of mourning your reciprocation

a quiet night, you and i, a spontaneous kiss to your cheek, and a cloudy sky. that was how it started.

the grey clouds were threatening to burst into showers of salty raindrops, but you didn’t seem to care, turning your back to me in favour of kicking something that sounded clinking like rocks and bits of concrete. i was a little worried that you felt uncomfortable at the sudden show of affection and debated loitering around a bit longer, but right now, i could feel a humid air in our surroundings, indicating looming rain.

“let’s take cover, quickly.”

i ushered, as my hand navigated to grab your other wrist that wasn’t buried in your pocket. i tried to drag you forward to what i assumed was the dimmed, blue light in a hazy fog that belonged to a convenience store, but when you spun around and faced me, you grounded your feet still, staying stubbornly in place. with frustration that probably adorned a frown on my features, i looked straight in your eyes. your eyes had never been short of hypnotic every time they looked at me because they provided answers that i seek, comforted my soul and communicated volumes even as your pretty lips stilled. they did none of those this time, except reflecting my frustrated face that i could clearly see, strangely so, even in the fog. i ignored the growing ire in my stomach in realisation that maybe i didn’t know you as well as i thought. i lowered my head, suddenly finding interest in your shoelaces. an unsure silence stretched between us until i was no longer able to stand your burning gaze on the back of my head. i muttered weakly:

“we’ll catch a cold.”

your cold hand cupped over the side of my cheek, slightly tilting my face upwards. it was my turn at being stubborn, keeping my head low enough so as to not meet your gaze. i guess i just wanted to sulk a little over the confusion in my heart - i still couldn't wrap my head around your actions. were they green signals for our relationship to bloom into an intimacy as romantic as a red rose, or was it merely my fantasies messing with my consciousness that could no longer differentiate what was real and what wasn't?

“i'm not that fragile, and besides, i'd have you by my side even if i fell sick enough that i couldn't think, right?"

your words rolled off your tongue onto mine a honeyed texture i couldn't get enough of, almost like a drug with stirred questions as its side effects. it wasn't just your words, no, because right after that, you snaked your hand around my head and pressed on its back so i could rest my forehead on your damp shoulder. oh. i was too focused on you that it had started to rain without my notice. the rain be damned if it could stop us from being so close to each other like this. plus, the reassuring way your hand patted my head gently emboldened me, telling me you wouldn't pull me away. so i blurted without thinking:

"please be mine."

too tired for regrets, my eardrums practically blurred out at that moment like a subconscious defense mechanism to block out any rejection that i'd rather die from embarrassment than to hear from you. it seemed like time had stopped, had really frozen each raindrop that rolled down the tips of my twitching fingers and solidified the air between us to frosted ice.

a beat of my heart. a shaky exhale from me, from you or from both of us, i didn't know. but that didn't matter, like how insignificantly heavy the rain was, weightless, in contrast to those words you uttered, thick and dripping with sugary honey, an endearing promise i longed for:

"i'm yours."

i could breathe again.

✧✦ astra’s cyberspace ✦✧

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .   ███▒▒▒▒▒▒▒

ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

Now playing: YAMEII - SYNESTHESIA!

ılıılıılıılıılıılı

1:00 ─|─────── 3:24

        ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

about me | about astra’s garden | all my works

I LOVE YANQING!!!! SO MUCH!!!! ITS MY FIRST TIME TRYING OUT HONKAI STAR RAIL AND THE GORGEOUS BABYGIRL YANQING CAME HOME AS MY FIRST FIVE STAR??????? I FEEL LIKE IM ON CLOUD NINE <333

flower halos

❃ bask in a sentimental glow ❃

heartseases / poetries

carnations / prompts

mourning your reciprocation

forget-me-nots / oc scenarios

water lilies / fanfictions

                     ───•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•───

i swallow

part 2 of mourning your reciprocation

before you came, i was tied to a desk and a chair by the binds of basic needs and oftentimes wants when i got a raise. it was a mere routine to arrive at work on time, a severe lack of sleep forcefully shoved away in my eye sockets, only to return home countless hours later with body-crumbling exhaustion from overtime. but no matter how tired or worn out i was and no matter how much workload there was, i didn’t shed a single tear, because i knew all too well that such was life. or so i thought. a true life wasn’t a routine. to live and to exist bore stark differences. it wasn’t often that i found myself living, until i met you.

cooperation was what i always tried to achieve in group projects, in fear of being frowned upon with scornful gazes and disdain for not trying hard enough. that fear took my teammates into account, but in competitions, it overwhelmed me to an extent of completely disregarding rivalry. that left me unaware to those prying eyes that were waiting for the right moment to flip the tables. alas, what good was it to put my heart and soul to our first project when all of my hard work was for naught after the opposing team sabotaged the files that i was in charge of?

my tear-stained face hit face-first against the messy blankets under a tilted pillow that i attempted to lower the back of my head on. all the strength i had left after work was already used up for dragging myself up the bed. this was one of those moments that i felt like i could truly live. because it was hard to breathe when i laid this way that i realised, one by one, how the only thing that wetted my cheeks at this hour used to be a cold energy drink, how amazing it would be to be able to breathe when i suffocated, and how you would’ve rubbed soothing circles on my back, wordlessly yet affirmatively lying by my side as i bury my face in your collarbones.

no, no. i can’t afford to think of you right now. not when you just peered down at me, all disgusted and utterly hateful as if i was nothing but dirt. oh, please, if only you saw those foxes snooping around like i did, you would be standing my ground and supporting me… like before. you always would have. you’d have believed in my pleas unlike the others. those scoundrels were no different from each other with their ignorance, never failing to put everything on my shoulders then shun me for getting tired. was it on me to prevent the selfishness in human’s nature that was vulgarly rooted to the corrupted core? damn them all to hell!

i couldn’t even find ways to make it up to you because how on earth could i when you wouldn’t even spare a glance my way? frustration pooled a helpless desire in my guts to thrash around or punch just an ounce of pain out, but my limbs had reached their limits, so i cried harder instead, though my eyes were starting to sting painfully. i hated the wet burn that my hot tears made on these freezing cheeks, smeared all over my pillow and almost biting away at my face from how it hurt so badly, it hurt being misunderstood by you so much that i could die. but this excruciating pain told me that i was still alive.

because feeling pain was what it meant to be alive, i’d rather that night, after swallowing the hurt whole, i’d fall into a sleep that i would never wake up from.

this flower garden has conversations with the stars.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ welcome to astra’s universe, lovely flower~ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

“hello, there. you’ve shifted into a realm of dreams where my garden lies beneath a starry sky, timeless and ready to satiate your purest musings.”

““but how would it do that?” you may wonder. do you feel the presences of fallen stars that are gently swirling a halo around you? close your eyes.  let your wonder sink in. let your wonder tells stories with the stars.”

“my, have the stars of my garden grabbed your interest already? if so, do take a look below ‘keep reading’.”

                                                     ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ 

❥ what is astra’s garden for?

i am a girl whose mind drifts in daydreams a lot. i wish to cultivate this ‘garden’ for meaningful inspirations that bear fruit from writing my daydreams down (in intended lowercase.).

❥ ways i can enjoy my stay in astra’s garden?

here, in astra’s garden, you will see my daydreams manifested into many forms of texts, stories and scenarios for you to share your thoughts on. yes, this is not entirely self-indulgent, at least it is not only for me to write whatever i think down as a means of getting things off my mind. therefore, i look forward to asks from you guys in hopes of having lighthearted interactions filled with motivating positivity! <3 

ೃ⁀➷ important notes!

✧ it is important that we don’t take things too seriously; do relax and enjoy your stay. 

✧ apart from civilized discussions, i will not accept nor tolerate other asks such as nsfw requests, invasive questions, vent asks and generally offensive behaviour.

✧ as this blog is still growing, i am open to suggestions for engaging ideas that may help provide a better experience for everyone.

✧ all of your judgemental binoculars should be destroyed. stop looking, start seeing. just with your bare eyes. you’ll see we are all humans. 

✧ as a young individual, i myself am not the wisest nor the most experienced. i am seeking a comforting environment where i can be myself around you, who too, are also being yourselves. please do not hesitate to give feedback for us all to grow.

✧ criticism, especially constructive, is greatly appreciated. any other offensive criticisms made purely by ill intentions will not be tolerated.

✧ asks are welcomed any time. should i get busy, i will post regular updates, not to worry. 

❥ what can my asks be?

please know that within civilised boundaries, there should be no creative limits to what your asks can be! be it literature such as quotes or poems to hobbies ranging from movie dramas, art, sports, music, games, random tips, facts et cetera, i’d be delighted to hear from you.

my aim is making this blog into a safe place as well as a dream garden for anyone who would like to share their own thoughts and ideas, so let’s indulge ourselves!

about me

                                                    ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

mourning your reciprocation

prompt: written in a person’s point of view who was in love with someone before that someone became an amnesiac. this accident resulted in separation, but never in lost feelings, though they are one-sided.

“the sorrows inside

i swallow

in our forgotten memoirs

i wallow.”

this is the end, you say

then i lay,

down on the rough patches of my jumbled sorrows that stick out like needles, each one stabbing my back in intervals until it pierces through my heart. i reach my hand up to touch the steely, sharp tip protruding upwards from the centre of my heart as it palpitates weakly, pressing the soft pad of my index finger until the needle, too, pierces open the thin skin. waterfalls of blood spurt out, crashing down on my face the harsh truth, so it doesn’t feel warm.

because it’s anything but, like icy water under the thickest glaciers far, far away, betraying the delusion that your words couldn’t ever be so piercingly chilling that it rivals that of the Arctic ocean, capable of far more than just rendering me lifeless.

yet here i am, shivering from the freeze of my heart and every fibre of my broken bones, slowly crumbling apart until my neurons decay as i desensitise myself, my brain, my skin, my heart, my hands, legs, feet, my everything.

it’s so cold in here. and

im lonely

too.

but a decaying corpse

is beyond saving

so it lays