Charmed and Clueless

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

e.e. cummings

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

I’m tired of waking up every single day knowing that I would be doing exactly the same things I did the other day, in precisely the same manner. I’m tired of listening to the same set of people because I know that I would only feel sorry for myself. I’m tired of looking at the mirror only to see my reflection— a reflection with a seemingly daunting and vexed aura. And that’s just how I feel. I’m tired of pressing on the keys of my laptop because I fear that what I type might not exactly depict what I really want to say. I’m tired of speaking because I know that what I would say might not precisely express how I sincerely feel. And so all I’m left to do is to simply feel— because that’s the only thing I know that remains real. My feelings. And I don’t feel well. I just don’t.

So this is what it looks and feels like, huh? Not bad. :)