I know you are alone. Crazily getting sucked inside that vortex. It's almost the state when you wake up after a turbulent dream. You fight cobwebs or a giant tree, and the insistent alarm clock tells you something has gone awry. 
I know you are tempted sometimes, tempted to turn it around, sit inside the coupe of your stolen ship and not budge an inch. 

The box

There was a tiny boy. He had very white teeth and he liked grinning a lot. When he grinned, his eyes crinkled, and sparkled at the same time. It was quite marvellous.  He was kind of scrawny and had crazy hair which he continuously brushed away from his forehead. He liked playing with the craziest of toys. And he found buttons in strange shops and stored them in a very special box. He met a little girl, even tinier than him, playing in the meadow one day and decided to give her the box. The girl looked at him suspiciously with big brown eyes and refused with a firm tilt of her determined chin. The tiny boy was stubborn. He really really wanted the little girl to take his box and make it her own. He was quite a nice boy, you see. The box was beautiful, with little stars on it.
The boy then told the girl, "If you take this box from me, you'll be happy." The girl scoffed a little bit. She was happy all right. She had Garcon, the big frog, Strawberry, her pet bunny, and the meadow. She needed nothing else.
The boy was unhappy. He did not want his box anymore. When he went home, his mom saw that his mouth had drooped a little bit. She drew him to her arms and said, "What stole the smile, my precious?" The boy told his mom the story of the girl in the meadow. His mom made him some cocoa, and told him, "I think the box is meant to be yours for now. The box does not need a little girl, it needs you. Fill it up with joy..your toys, your wooden buttons, your drawings, badges, pebbles and anything else you treasure.When you think it's filled to the brim, keep it tucked away safely. Someday, you'll need it again." The boy gave his mom a big kiss and carried the box safely upstairs.
Years passed. The boy was all grown up. He had mentioned the box to no one ever.
He was heartbroken, this boy. He wanted someone to take his box from him, and explode with happiness.
He walked over to the meadow, sat under his favourite tree, and took out the box carefully from his coat pocket. The stars still merrily glinted. He missed his mother. He looked up at the sky and kept staring for the longest time.
"Hello." He looked back, startled. There was a girl standing behind him, with the prettiest brown eyes and a very familiar chin. "Hey, you scared me." The girl smiled. "Sorry. Can I sit? You kind of stole my favourite reading spot, so." They sat side by side, in comfortable silence, admiring the beauty of the meadow in spring.
The boy looked at her. He hesitated for a second, before picking up the box and handing it to her.
The girl twinkled at him and slowly opened it. 

Ageing is a difficult process and I didn't even know when it slowly crept up my neck and entered my brain cells.
This year has been crazy. I still can't believe it's over. I still can't believe things were so different last year.
Like a storm everything turned upside down, then there was calm, then I saw the light.
Little T is dead, he sailed away with the water. I know he's around, smoking one of his fat doobies. It's just an illusion that he went up in flames. I know you're around. I'm sorry I was rude the last time I met you, but you know.
I'm glad I still have people around me who matter. Then there are some who don't anymore.
I am glad that me and you are awesome friends. I'm glad we know each other inside out. I'm glad you have found someone to be insane with. You are one of the best people ever. And don't change too much.
And I found you, in this strange place, strangely, fit into you like I should have maybe. I promise to be your strength, as you are mine. I promise not to let the world come between us. It's our sky.
I feel closer to the parents than ever before. I think they are the best people on earth. It's not that I don't get annoyed, but still they are rock solid quirky people who brought me up. That must have been quite a lot of effort!
It's been a long trip. Let's see where it all goes from here.
Be good people, and make those resolutions, whether you keep them or not.

"Once upon a time, there was Candy and Dan. Things were very hot that year. All the wax was melting in the trees. He would climb balconies, climb everywhere, do anything for her, oh Danny boy. Thousands of birds, the tiniest birds, adorned her hair. Everything was gold. One night the bed caught fire. He was handsome and a very good criminal. We lived on sunlight and chocolate bars. It was the afternoon of extravagant delight. Danny the daredevil. Candy went missing. The days last rays of sunshine cruise like sharks. I want to try it your way this time. You came into my life really fast and I liked it. We squelched in the mud of our joy. I was wet-thighed with surrender. Then there was a gap in things and the whole earth tilted. This is the business. This, is what we're after. With you inside me comes the hatch of death. And perhaps I'll simply never sleep again. The monster in the pool. We are a proper family now with cats and chickens and runner beans. Everywhere I looked. And sometimes I hate you. Friday -- I didn't mean that, mother of the blueness. Angel of the storm. Remember me in my opaqueness. You pointed at the sky, that one called Sirius or dog star, but on here on earth. Fly away sun. Ha ha fucking ha you are so funny Dan. A vase of flowers by the bed. My bare blue knees at dawn. These ruffled sheets and you are gone and I am going too. I broke your head on the back of the bed but the baby he died in the morning. I gave him a name. His name was Thomas. Poor little god. His heart pounds like a voodoo drum."

Yet there's no one to beat you no one to defeat you except the thoughts of yourself feeling bad

Only one teaspoon of sugar

You were sitting idle, staring at the computer screen intently. I sat near your leg with a newspaper, pretending to read. Something was bothering you. Your eyes were distant, little beads of sweat formed on your nose.

She sauntered in, tall, quite big, a gentle smile playing around her lips. We looked up, startled. I refused to acknowledge her presence. I excused myself and went out for a walk. Bought my favourite coffee, smoked a cigarette. Humming a tune, I stepped on the sidewalk, crushing a few dry leaves under my feet.

 I wondered what you two were talking about.  Maybe you were looking at her, admiring the curve of her cheek. Maybe your fingers brushed against hers as you served her tea.  Maybe you were dissecting current world politics.

She looks at you lovingly, holding your gaze. You brush aside your meandering thoughts. You are determined to be in love with me.

I walk back slowly, impatiently pushing truant strands of hair away from my forehead.

You smile at me. “Where were you? I was waiting for you.” I look around the room, sniffing discreetly for a whiff of  her fragrance. You look at me strangely, “Are you okay?”, you ask, touching my chin.

I move away, a little ashamed, a little surprised.

Where is my mind

November, starkly different from the previous year, but December is almost here. The slightest hint of winter is disconcerting. Want more, want more.
No angst, so no rant. So zen i surprise and scare myself. Zen is an antagonist. I can never be zen.
Nightime collagemaking is the best thing in the world, post refrigerator raid.
Watched Dick Tracy yesterday. Such magnificent sets. Strange, nice.
Oh, and I love sparring with you. I feel alive, sparkly.

I wish I could write more, but no.


Ta.

What to believe, what ideas to discard? Too much meat to create one big fat lie and difficult to give up on your own fiction.
A few songs, a few movies, a few adored names, a few hastily read lines, and you were created.
Presently, you refuse to leave, presently wisps of your character collides violently with my well-loved, well-comforted, well-nourished soul.
Poor you, unaware, in your own little world.

Letter

Last winter, you and I were loafing around a cinema. We were warily glaring at cops and I remember you said something nice. We drank awful milky coffee and bumped into people we knew.
Last winter I met you for the first time. Liked you instantly. You reminded me of someone I adored, one of mine, who does not belong anymore, someone who decided not to belong. Decided I was too inconsistent to be her friend.
You and your schizophrenic conversations. Your tears, your drama. Your constant need to discard, to be merciless. I liked being with you however. I liked how lazy moments spun new thoughts, I liked eating out of boxes, I liked falling asleep suddenly. I liked our strange friendship, till you decided to push too hard.
And you, something about you I loved to love.  I liked our conversations, I liked your room floor. But you moved away with time and a precious piece of me.
I miss you, our pointlessness, our intense friendship, the blankets, the laughter. I'm grateful you're still around.
You, who I kissed one drunken night, without a thought, a care, and then cried guilty and heartsick. You don't exist.
Your grin disarms me even now. I dream of it sometimes, and wake up, alarmed. Then, as familiar noises fill my ears, I lie back with a sigh.
I miss you too, my brother, my own. And you little funny clown, with a golden heart.
You, young boy, you are wonderful, with your curly mop and songs and dreams, so similar to ours, old like the scattered us, stretched over these years.
You are special, you were perhaps meant to be mine. You who walked in like a storm on a still day - and I exploded. I need you, I want to be around you, to look at you, touch your nose, feel your gentle breathing against my skin, hold you as you thrash around in your sleep. I need to be your story, the most significant one.

I wish I gave myself a chance. To see, explore, rise above my mind. I never listen. I don't really know what's in store.