D-Ink

It was like I was detached from my body- I felt weird, frustrated and happy all at the same time. I ate solely for the purpose of filling my stomach with something, food I once loved and relished simply tasted like tasteless beings. My emotions were unbalanced, waking up no longer became a chore, but instead, I was excited and looking forward to the day like a fool waiting for snow when it already had been snowing all these while. I was oblivious to others as they were for me for I had only his image sealed in my memory. He was the air that I breathe, the swagger that I walk, my thoughts always keep running towards him. His sky was mine, too. I was simply dizzily toxicated with the thoughts of him. While I could grin at any pointless remark more so, shake with uncontrollable laughter whenever someone cracked, I was slowly examining myself with wide, widen eyes. Is this really me? I would often ask. And if so, is this how �love� feels? Strange, tiresome but beautiful all at the same time? And how about the funny sensation in the heart whenever each day passes without seeing him? Each morning began with hundreds of fluttering butterflies swirling around in my stomach and the never-ending hope in meeting him by chance�which made me slightly happier if not so, than usual. And if the timing wasn�t right (partly due to my uncooperative limbs), I was still able to move forward into the day(slightly less merry) but managed to pull it through nonetheless with still a glimmer of hoping some unexpected good luck in meeting him in the evening. It was a never-ending cat-n-mouse game, I�d say�which is tiresome, frustrating but endearing at the same time. I feel like an absurd fool looking for water in a desert. This spells mad, mad, mad!

I�ve sunken back into THE black hole again; where blackness and its likes mingled together like old friends. My hair had grown into black, tangled locks and the bags under my eyes seemed to grow darker with every sleepless night. I grew weary and irritated quite easily now, every mistake incurred around me, threatened my head to slip into a migraine fun-mode. I spent a fair amount of time examining myself in the mirror, caressing the lines which snaked my features and marvelled at the pallid colour emanating from my face. The new me, the one I�m getting used to, without fail managed to look sick, weak and beaten every time I chanced upon a mirror. It felt weird but undeniably, thrilling, to feel and see the changes in me. I�ve also lost some weight and as a result of that, the clothes I used to own became baggy and a size too big for me. But no physical change could make up to how I felt inside. I was restless, craving for that fire to set alight my lost hope and dreams. It was as if I was soulless, walking around in circles, always coming back to the point where I�ve started. It was infuriating at times when I didn�t know what to do, say or worse still, think. I was like a ticking bomb, just a flicker of movement and I could explode in smithereens. I used to weep softly at night, unawaringly, when the dreams proved too much to take, and I would wake up in the middle of the night, my shirt drenched in tears and my mind slightly confused and tired at the never-ending drama I had to face these nights. I tried to think positive, tried to surround myself with merry thoughts but it felt really weird and I felt I was bringing no justice to myself. Bottom line, I felt like I was cheating to myself. As someone I knew used to say, cheating oneself is the lowest pit anyone could find themselves in. So being a tight follower of that, I gave up in being optimistic. I chose dark colours, namely black, grey and navy in the clothes that I wore, went to the outside world with no less than a fragile flower of confidence in me. I walked about listlessly, doing only mandatory things which I had to do, eat only when my stomach burns in hunger, and the day my eyes got all red and wary from the evading sleep, I turned to self-questioning. I spent the days questioning my pride, joy, sanity and my reality. When things got too thick to see straight, I would weep uncontrollably. Sometimes when I�m alone or lay sleepless in bed, my eyes automatically starts to water and produces waterfalls which otherwise known as tears and I would weep slowly and softly like a forgotten child left in the alleyway. These tears would not escape my sleeping patterns, too. Dark dreams I used to have grew and seemed darker with every terrain that passes my face. Writhing in agony on the bed made me realise how easily vulnerable I had become.