I can't remember exactly just how many times writing has saved me, despite my limits and lack of language knowledge. Despite my lack of coherent thoughts. I guess what's important is that I'm able to materialize my thoughts and share it with those who can possibly relate. That my fellow lonely stars in the universe can make something out of my cold existence. Those who want to take comfort in knowing that they are not alone somehow. I can make your life quite bearable by sharing my own pain.
The more I write the more I come to terms with myself. It takes a great deal of courage to go back in there. There are so many things I'd rather not touch again, writing is like unearthing something that should have stayed undisturbed in the depths of the earth. Along with the worms and other creatures that are not supposed to surface just to scare you. I write down the things that I should have done and should have been. I write down my life before it's too late. I can still make everything happen in writing.
When you say before it's too late, it's like putting an expiration date to something. The end, an irrevocable action, an irreparable damage. Before something disappears into the endless waters. Before the paper gets burned. Before the storm destroys the crops. Before the vultures eat the dead. Before the world ends before our love does.
I have lived under the illusion that it's never going to be late. I can always get whatever my mind can imagine. I get what I want but it costs me a lot. I used to think that things, events, and people are all under control. Soon everything will be fragments of the past possibly imprinted somewhere in the other dimension. Until there's no way for me to get there to change things. The change happens now before it's too late. Before the thing of the present becomes the thing of the past.
I get up before it's too late, or before the sun is too high up in the sky that I'd be lazy to start doing anything. Before I begin liking my dreams more. Before every waking moment cannot be endured any more. Before silence becomes deafening. I can attribute my have-to-wake-up discipline after living a life similar to military-style. I have to get up early or else I'd be punished. I have to prepare the breakfast first. I have to do what I have to do within the timeframe. Life has a time limit without a specific duration.
Fear becomes my motivation. I wash the dishes before the crawling insects devour my leftovers. Before they take over my apartment. Before they start devouring me while I sleep. I fear they will come and get me, soon it'd be too late to do anything about it. I write about my fear before it's too late.
I think so hard until one day, my brain explodes and a piece of my skull can be a lovely pendant for your necklace. You'll hold me close to your heart and I'd appreciate if you do. In memory of... who passed away in her own prison, tiny words especially etched on the skull piece. I don't imagine a grand ceremony or anything, something from me for you would be enough. Words and my thoughts. I can't promise that I can bring the message of what's really out there in the darkness. It's up to you to find out. You'll have your time.
I try to chase money and success before it's too late. Before it's too late for you to enjoy the soft bed I especially bought for you. And the fancy Tele on the wall, with people in their vivid colors coming to life right before your eyes. The much-sought place close to the sea where you get to breathe the salty air and feel the warm sand. Or close to the mysterious mountains that will take your breath away every day. The refrigerator is well-stocked with all the delicious food you like. And the dining room with the nice chairs that you finally get to sit back and relax. I've been wanting to give these things to you. I wanted to make it up to you before it's too late. I feel so limited.
Don't make anyone wait. Say the things that you want to say. Write down the things you cannot say. Can you be kind to those who've hurt you? Can kindness rule the world before it's too late? I want to stop hurting, betraying, and trying to feel important to someone. I need to resort to the freedom of being nothing. All the money in the world can't buy love and meaningful human relationships. What is this for at the end of it all? What if there's no happy ending? This is the only life as you make it. The tragedy is you don't know. I don't know. I feel so limited. All I know is that people will no longer be there soon. You and me too. Those you hurt and those who hurt you will soon go. Back to dust and eternal emptiness. Back to nothingness. And the things we chase in life will no longer matter. Nothing anymore. Everything is ephemeral.