You asked me why I try to ruin everything.

When I did not understand your question, you snared me by the arm to present me before the unrecognizable interiors of your ribcage, sprawled among a wilting bed of arnicas. I remember distinctly the arnicas, with their bloodstained yellow crowns, because you showed them to me once when you managed to induce the both of us with poison. Your heart remained beating on the silent earth.

You asked me the question again, and this time we both looked up. We were standing beneath an abysmal void of blue that seemed hollow without the presence of a cloud. The Sun was at its threshold above us, presently waiting on its celestial throne to shine bleak light upon its absent subjects. It all seemed awfully picturesque in our eyes. This you pointed out to me in enraged bursts of spits.

 For I knew how much you loved overcast weathers. I knew how much you loved thunderstorms; how it pleases you to watch the skies grace the earth with relentless whips of lightning, scarring your world, berating it with clamors of thunder that always seem to resemble a cacophonous orchestra of kettledrums. I knew how, when the clouds begin to roll, you would push me aside like a piece of furniture and escape from our embrace, only to run outside and thank the rain for offering you solace in light of all your sufferings. I had known all of this, for I have engraved your entire intricacy in the veins that intertwined across the backs of my palms.

So why have I come to spoil everything for you? If I had loved you, why did I ask the storm to cease, and for the Sun to exhaust its futile rays on the two of us?

And you were the cave that sheltered us both from the very same storm you loved. When the seas grew tumultuous, you were the tormented waves that swept inside of our safe, drowning us in the engulfing darkness with your malevolent tides.

We were both left afterwards in an unsightly wreck. You told me that I had done enough – it was time for you to leave. Exhaustion and the pathetic remains of my love for you kept me rooted in my position. I have learnt better than to interfere.

You left, saying you needed a place of your own to grow. You were tired of these long summers.       

Darwin

Innalillahi wa innailaihi roji'un,

 Your grandmother would be blessed to have a grandson like you. To all of your prayers: amin.

"Lardass!" he spat, delivering a loud smack on my shoulder. "You jump into a river again before you learn to swim proper and I promise to give you a good lickin', you hear?"

We sat wordless for a moment in front of each other, our shadows stretched out and entangled upon the groves. Both of us were shivering beneath the weight of our drenched clothes, but Henry seemed to quiver more violently with every angry gulp of air. The Sun continued to descend reluctantly behind the hills, spilling blood-red light wherever it kissed the land. What a sight we must have been under its seething glow! I fancied the Sun would never have set until one of us spoke a word, for it seemed that even the summer cicadas have leaned in to listen to our little skirmish.

LET LOOSE

That one time I was invited, we had tied a ribbon around your back tree and we tied it upside down. But what did that matter? You invited me to sit down beside you underneath the shelter of your tree so we could watch the clouds roll past together. Spring was especially gentle on that day, and your eyelids drooped slowly to the somnolent warmth of her lullaby. Your head lolled limply to one side, and the corners of your lips were curved slightly upwards. In your sleep, I thought better than to disturb you. I left you to your reverie.

God blew gently on the clouds that He had hung with delicacy that morning. The sun hid shyly behind the cover of the clouds, and I delighted alone in the moment of repose where everything was basked in the cool shadows of the sky. You had drawn out everything inside of me that needed to be said – a trick only a few others could ever master.  We found comfort in silence, and invited her gladly in our company. For once, you seemed content in exchanging simple words of nothing.

x

You left before I had the chance to tell you everything. If you were here, I would tell you about how I murmured a prayer for you that day whilst you were sleeping. I would tell you about how I thanked God for introducing you into my life. Thank goodness! I had finally found somebody I could earnestly love from the top of my heart. I would tell you about how I prayed for every spring to be as kind to you as it were to me that year, for she has sent me someone I could come home to every time I called your name.

I would tell you how important you are to me, and that I have kept you close to my heart ever since. You were more than a friend; you left me as my brother.

But words are only futile little tools.

That spring, you have taken me under the nurturing refuge of your arms when you slipped the note in my pocket. You told me you wanted to meet me at three. For once in my life, I was invited.

Yes – for once, I was invited.

A message to my followers imploring them not to ever backtrack my blog more than a few months back

MY GOD

DO I EVEN WRITE ANYTHING HERE ANYMORE

Maybe I should go on a mass post edit and delete my blog's history and start anew. ( ºヮº) I haven't managed to write anything decent in a while, and more often than not I confide in my other blog as an outlet for my little rambles and poop.


My previous posts are eyesores now idek what was in my mind when I wrote them. ;u; But I bet in a few months I will look back at the things I wrote and say that it sucks, but then realise how little I have probably improved with the rate that I am writing at. And the most unfortunate bit is that this is what I'm going through rn


But I hope things won't work like that and that I will be productive very soon. And hopefully I will be able to finish a whole prose, no matter how long or brief it is. ;n;

Sometimes I'm not sure how to react when people say, "It is a shame that so-and-so has changed."

Of course they have changed. That's what people do.

So how long has this been going on?

I will not hate myself for no reason.

I will not be so hard on myself.

I will learn to grow comfortable under my own skin.

I will learn to forgive myself so that every time the wrong words come out of my mouth, or if I have done something I told myself repeatedly was wrong, I will not earn myself self-loathe.

I need to shift my self-perception and stop focusing on the many flaws I have, because I probably have just as many positive qualities.

Frankly, I am growing tired of depreciating myself like this and waiting for some changes to happen. I can't move forwards if I continue berating myself for everything I say and do, because then I'll only be afraid to do anything at all. That makes me a failure in life by default.
I should stop that because I will eventually learn to become a better person, and the best thing I could do right now is to think less about who exactly I am and just be.

Might as well start liking myself as I am if I'm gonna live as Anty for the rest of my life, hahaha.

---

I have faith in the fact that this is just a terrible phase I'm undergoing, though.

A very long.

And depressing.

Phase.

Words of Motivation

So whenever I draw and the proportions turn ghastly, and my lines are horrendously sketchy and my colours resemble puke,

And when I have a writer's block and cannot produce a satisfying piece of prose, and find that stringing words together to make a beautiful sentence or two is an arduous task,

And when I want to be social and make SUPER INTERESTING conversations with people I want to break the ice with

I shall look at this picture.

Because preach it, Mr. Cow Suit Man.

Preach it.

I'm not doing things right lately and I'm not sure how to get back on track.

---

[Edit] 19/02

Also, how do you cure writer's block?

My writing skills have grown so painfully rusty.

I can barely come up with a decent prose.

):