Inner Voices

I imagine it must be interesting to watch me from a distance when I’m seated by myself. Talking and listening to the voices in my head.

It’s just one voice really, with a bunch of different views and add-ons. You never answer when I ask you.

You seem to speak without speaking, a voice with no sound, just promptings towards something and I carry on this monologue that has no end and no purpose. Just me ranting about things that make no sense half the time.

I wonder, does it tire you? Or maybe it’s amusing. I like to think I’m funny so I hope you get in a good laugh or two regularly. I rarely say this but I have to hand it to you, you my friend are the real mvp.

Sorry that I don’t listen to you but you knew what you were signing up for when you agreed to be my Guardian Angel. You can’t undo that now, we’re stuck for life and you have to get me out of dicey situations because if I don’t put you there, who will?

I guess the point of this rant was to say that I hear your voice non-voice and I’m glad that it’s there. At least I know I’m still sane and there’s hope for me yet when I hear it.

Kassy_Lu

All the Reasons Why

The question that people always ask is why. Sometimes even when the question has no answer. Even when it has the stupidest answer.

When people ask me why I love you, I never know what to say. Why do I have to have a reason? Why can’t I just love some random person I met on the street just because?

I suppose they expect me to say I love you because you’re kind and generous, and you make me laugh. Or that I love you because you get me and I can be myself with you.

The answers that people want to hear are that I love you because you’re intelligent and sharp, you unapologetically you and you’re a total goof yet you’re the most serious person I know.

I guess all these answers would be the correct ones. But what if my answer is just that I love you because there’s love in my heart to give? That I love you even when you’re not loveable, even when I know that loving you will hurt me and take away from me till I have nothing left?

What if my answer is that I love you because you’re here now, in the radius of my love and are the lucky recipient?

What if I just love you because even if you’re not perfect, you’re worthy of love?

Kassy_Lu

Mint tea

I like a hot cup of tea on chilly days, bundled up in a throw and folded on a chair, lost in a fictional world full of adventure and intrigue packed in a book.

The cup of tea sits on the table beside me until its warm and no longer hot and is slightly bitter because the bag stayed there longer than I’d have liked but it’s okay because you made it.

It’s okay because the taste of it reminds me of how we first met, how in a crowd of strangers you were a friendly face with a barely there smile.

The scent of the mint is a reminder of the nights we spent up, talking about things we couldn’t remember the next morning, whispering and giggling like children being up late when it was against the rules.

Holding the cup is a reminder of how you held me tight as we listened quietly to the sounds of the night. It reminds me of how whenever I started to doze off, you squeezed me tighter and whispered something that sparked a new conversation.

So saying I like a cup of hot tea actually means I like a cup of tea as long as you make it, and especially if it’s mint. I like it even more when you’re seated next to me with your own cup.

Kas

Clockwork

There’s a constant ticking sound somewhere in my subconscious. I can’t hear it but it’s there and I know it’s there even when I don’t know that it’s there. It reminds me from time to time. Everyday, to be exact.

Every evening, after the sun has tucked itself in and the moon has woken up to bestow her beauty on the night, in the dark while I lay on my bed and will myself to sleep, that ticking turns into a chime. A reminder that the day is ending and there is something I’m missing.

It hasn’t been missing, I just haven’t acknowledged it. In my rebellion and, dare I say, pettiness, I choose to pretend that I don’t know He is there. I can feel Him watching me, waiting for me to give him a lick of attention, patiently waiting for me to get over myself. So much more patience than I have.

So, finally, I turn to Him and say hi and feel a sense of shame for being so self consumed. The chiming dampens down and is replaced with a silence that stretches into the night, satisfied that I have given in to what I have been avoiding all along.

The ticking resumes in its silence, some form of anchor and reassurance, to chime again tomorrow and remind me to get over myself.

Kas

My First Time

I was scared. I had heard so much, so many stories that shouldn’t have made sense, but they did. I had read some of those stories, had tried to understand how all of them were true and why the people, some of them, had lived to see the light of another day.

I stood up on shaky legs when it was my turn. Unsure of whether to go forward or run out the back and not let myself be killed by my own foolishness. I clasped my hands, they were in danger of being burnt and I quite liked them a lot. I took a deep breath and took a step forward. The line seemed to move slower than it actually did.

I tried to swallow the lamp in my throat but it wouldn’t go away and I panicked. My heart started racing and I was sure I was going to faint if I was lucky. Otherwise I was going to die.

It was finally my turn to get to the front and I held out my hands, palms out, quite damp with sweat and shaky like a leaf. The woman looked at me curiously for a second and then said to me gravely the words I had heard countless times before then.

And then she placed in my hands what looked like a small piece of waffle. White and round and immediately, my heart stilled. I wasn’t going to die. Even if I was, it would be with sheer bliss at finally and at last meeting the very Essence of my being.

Kas