Matchbox Maladies

Catastrophic uncertainty of the self.

Month: May, 2012

by Sine Qua Non

I didn’t think I would be hit hard by this one. But I am. And I’m trying very hard not to crumble down. Trying. Very hard.

blue bicicletta

“Wide Heart,” 8 x 10 inches, pen and ink and watercolor, available in my shop

This is a print about something I’ve been practicing much lately, or trying to practice: letting go. Oh, my heart wants so much to be wide open and let life take me where it wants me to go, and making this print helped just a little bit. I hope it helps you too!

View original post

Advertisements

Five Hours Since The Last Call

by Sine Qua Non

It’s almost eight. Today I woke up with an anticipated sense of calm. Like, coming from my dreams, there was no other way to feel upon facing the morning in this realm.

I am gaining a sense of bravery here. Talking about the  way I feel in such exposure. But believe me when I say that this time I really didn’t know what the song meant. I just liked how it sounded and paid no attention to the words. I didn’t understand it. But after this morning, I wish I still didn’t.

This is deliberate, the act of stepping out from that shadow of a pseudonym nobody knows about. You will find these words duplicated in another backlit sheet. If you do find that, you must have probably deserved the privilege of access. Right now, not yet.

Right now, we maintain this distance. Let’s try to catch ourselves from stepping beyond the lines. While it is somewhere we’d like to be, it may not be something we need to destroy ourselves for.

Right now, I’ll write my stuff and listen to these songs. You, stay.

And if you no longer can, tiptoe quietly away. Because if I catch you drifting away, I might never let you go.

 

**Yes, this is a duplicate entry. For a reason.

by Sine Qua Non

You know those times when you hear a song and you feel that funny feeling of longing for someone to run a hand between your legs, reaching from your knees to inner thighs and then one finger parts menacingly from the hand it belongs to and wanders close a little too close to that moist patch of heaven pulsating at the center of the body breathing wet sighs to that sensation of a touch arriving steadily at the opening; these are the times that the tongue begins to speak awful truth that not even the mind can control, these are the times we fall defenseless to the urge to call out the name of the other; imagine the tip of the tongue charting territories forbidden to feel such pleasures and the tingle of a breaths touch to the tip of a hairstrand the pore breathes and exhales the scent of desire, and with a whiff tha heand begins to move wander getr lost in th eparts of the body hidden under layers of secrecy that inner zone home of the tingling sensations

Infected

by Sine Qua Non

The rain pours outside. It is cold. I seek warmth. It is wrong to want you beside me and be wrapped in your embrace, feel your breath on my neck, and finally look into your eyes when we speak. There is no need for me to hide behind an overextended metaphor of desire. I want you but cannot have you. It is a foolish thing but I can’t help it.

I miss you like you’re mine.

The Side Effect That Is The Inability To Sleep

by Sine Qua Non

Half past seven and I’m not supposed to be awake.

I was waiting when I fell asleep, listening to a song that hauntingly speaks of this little mess we find ourselves in. The song repeats: stay, don’t close your eyes. Stay open.

And haven’t we done exactly that for the last couple of days? Consistently awake with each other while the rest of the world is asleep around us. We are alone where we are yet kept company by the other. We toggled between what we needed to do and what we wanted to do. We watched as the cursor blinked to bring us a reply. We were quick to let the other know we are on the other side of the screen, no voices heard but intently listening.

Hours would pass and we find ourselves lying on our beds, still glued to our devices, unable to leave the conversation, resisting sleep. The lights are out, only our screens shine  light on our faces. Our heads rest on pillows trying to steal away the last bits of strength to keep us awake. But the green light beside each other’s names and the sound of a message tossed our way chase away the drowse. If we could converse in our dreams, I think we would.

But we  did not want the sun to rise on us. Before daybreak would come, we forced each other to retire. We forced ourselves to close the windows and turn off our computers. Our entire universe would fall quiet and though we tried to close our eyes and sleep, we couldn’t. In the dark, we reached for our phones. We just couldn’t let it rest. We craved for a sense of presence in the other’s absence. There we were: neither here, nor there yet here and there. This is all that we could have, all we could allow ourselves to.

So, stay. Don’t close your eyes. Please. Stay. Stay open.

 

Seeking Warmth

by Sine Qua Non

my hands are cold. my fingres tap stiffly on the keyboard then it taps the air while waiting for your response. it is as if i am tapping into an energy around me that will bring your answer to me. as if my fingers dancing with the breeze will lessen the wait, will give forth answers with much more meaning than your usual quick quips.

it is painful, this distance and our banter. to not have you near and  to be unsure of how you laugh at which joke. to not know how it would all sound like. to not see how your eyes would stare back at me when i talk. only the cursor blinks back at me. it blinks steadily, without feeling.

we toss around our thoughts without too much care, dare to ask the questions we shouldn’t, evade the ones that we know the other wants answered. this is where we meet, our reality in a backlit square. what separates us is not mere distance. it is also the series of mistakes we didn’t know we were making before we could figure out what is the right thing.

this is as far as our fantasy could go: virtual, unmoving, without sound. you will remain behind that screen, tapping your fingers that could not make its way in between mine. you are a craving that will never be satisfied. this sense of comfort will last. but only until we actually truly get through.

can you hear me? do you feel?