In the shape of christmas balls

Tears, they’re somewhere between holding back and rolling down. They’ve got no idea why they’re there; they’ve only been summoned to be on standby, like a little army of nutcrackers.

Maybe because it’s been smothering, and they’re rebels. Maybe they just want to sprint, towards liberation. Maybe because it gags, for them to stay inside. Maybe they’ve been invited by death, to be at the funeral. Perhaps it is the anxiety, that puts them on hold – a little like how one holds their pee and hop around outside the occupied lavatory in a plane. Maybe it is just the companion to a lost girl, for lost boys do not cry.

We know not, for sure, what the occasion is, for their lingering presence.

Life: So much has been happening lately; time, flying ever so fast. I don’t think my mind is processing much at all, honestly. It works at the speed of a computer from the ’80s in the day. By night, it likes to synchronise with the pen to work on the conventional, traditional, monochrome. What a misfit, what an outlier, what a little dot on an A4.

Catching one’s breath: it gets quite so scary when we forget to do that, when we do not run after it because we would run out of it.

I don’t know anymore, what’s scarier – being in the whimsical Wonderland, or reality. Because right now, it looks a lot like reality is scaring all the courage to escape into the idealistic, little sanctuary of imagination.

Sometimes we get sad about things and we don’t like to tell other people that we are sad about them. We like to keep it a secret. Or sometimes, we are sad but we really don’t know why we are sad, so we say we aren’t sad but we really are.

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