Lazy from C-Z

Like a song I could not figure out   Sometimes the worst thing is not knowing   How best to approach your moments   And feel the inside out of what is out and about   So we may yet explore what I hope to discover   And maybe perhaps recover   The intimate melody of your sweetest smile     Nothing is quite the same now   I just say your name now     But I always thought it was always your strength   To keep at bay your emotive core   And it was never your fault on how we came to be   I fell limply in love with all my force even before   Which I hoped to explore and yet recover   And maybe perhaps discover   What it is exactly this journey was for     Even though the pendulum always has   The tendency to swing wherever it wants to lean   I don’t look at it as a flaw we need to extinguish   The pendulum swings perpetually   And here you still are   Messing the wrongs you used to hear me swing   And here I still am   Missing the songs I used to hear you sing   And maybe perhaps someday

I have made it a point to endure the reality recoil once this short sabbatical is all said and done. The reality is that not much has changed, except for the sudden dwindling of my funds. I spent more of my finances in the last few days rather than the totality of my camino . Slightly effete for a man whose claim to life is my spirituality; that smug and self-righteous opinion that the world is mine and it owes me a living. Rather than claim it, it seems to me that I have instead lost any sense of it. It is not an invalidation of the whole duration of this experience, it is more rather my epiphany. When I arrived in Finisterre with a duo of misfits, I sought not to throw any valuable that I held dear simply because I did not want any of my possession to be a ritual for my own salvation, instead I sought it to live for the sake of my own oblivion. I will stand tall. But the long stretch of not communicating with Ainhoa stirs my thoughts day in and day out, waning my mannerisms. It is a

Today was supposed to be a cheat day, a moment to recuperate and recharge, after a long week of underreliance.  I had allowed myself a moment's notice to be free, and in turn, the wheels of reality reimbursed me thoughts of annihilation once again. It was difficult to engage myself with innocent fun. Thoughts of the days I spent in Las Palmas reverberate in my head allowing me no refuge from undesired thrusts from assertive ideals. It was as if the pain and suffering of six days worth of walk was the only thing keeping me from falling apart. I still have yet to scratch the surface, but I fear that the adverse effect of this is that I become attuned to the physical toll, and that once all is said and done, I then will become overly reliant on it. I do miss Ainhoa a lot, and it is indeed a struggle to pretend not to be so, but she is not the sole reason why I feel the way I do now. Yes, she permeates my senses daily, a voice whispering inside my head, but she is a great force of posi

"Never come near me or my sister ever again! Asshole!" Mati's voice echoed loudly at the long street. Jake walks away, about to burst into tears. Maia, 24, squats in front of her sister, apologetic for the ruckus that had just occurred. Maia was bawling her eyes out, but was able to blurt out something coherent to Mati. "He's not coming back. It's over." "Fucking of course, Mai! I warned you, didn't I?!" It was only then that Maia realises her sister's high-pitched voice has not been used since they were in their teens. Maia remembers it very well. It was during a family friend's wedding. Mati was mad at Maia because she broke the expensive camera their mother gifted Mati only weeks before then. She loved that camera like it was her own, and Maia clumsily let it slip from her hands when trying to take a photo of her sister pecking a kiss near the wedding cake with Mauro, Mati's first boyfriend. They were together for a year. Mau

The air was icy when the sun had shone. Too soon, I thought. I had barely gotten anything productive out of the long post-midnight solitude, frozen on the chair where I sat for hours, staring at the computer screen entertaining myself with two, three-minute clips of material I had already seen before, all while waiting for something minutely interesting to happen. Perhaps I had been soaked here for too long in this abyss that now it kind of becomes second nature. Long have I been alone and long have I been thirsty. The sun is up, meaning it is high time for me to choke the chicken before heading to sleep. I wonder whether to be sad or be happy for the mundanity of it all, but either way time waits for no one, including me, and I must away. As I lie on the bed wondering what to do, I feel a pang of anxiety slowly growing from behind my neck, slowly gaining awareness, and I start to wonder if it is exactly what I think it is.

It was a fun evening that did not last long. Old friends had congregated together in a pub once again after ten long years. Most of the people there had forgotten what my face might have looked like. When I was first asked, I was quite hesitant to go, knowing that the last time we had seen each other were not exactly in good terms. It was a heartbreaking ordeal, and it was saddening to me that we had parted in such a tumultuous end. As I entered the pub, I worried that my clothing of choice might not be appropriate for such an occasion. The others had always been quite typically quaint British. Thrift store preppie babies with a mild taste for cardigans and tweed. Once I stepped into the garden where they had cooped up, not much has changed. Before I could voice out my opening hello, everyone had lit up and screamed my name in unison after seeing me with such a boisterous hurray. I admit I did appreciate the surprising reaction. It had been quite some time since anybody had felt such j

Maia, now 23, slapdashes towards the gate where she had assumed the scarf she had fell off while hanging on her shoulder. There was nothing there but the brusque wailing of the arid land. She stood there disappointed for a minute or two before she decides to call her friend Jake, who is waiting for her at a café they frequent to to grab coffee. She tells him she no longer was in the mood to meet and drops the call before he could even get a single word out. She walks away with her feet stamping at every step. She starts shedding some tears with a frown, and looks at everything around her with a cursive tantrum. She arrives home, tears dried on its own. Her mother looks at her with only a slight hesitation. She knew. "It's just a th--" "Don't," Maia interjects. "I won't say anything else then, only that Jake called." Maia was already gone, locked up in her own space wherein she was alone with her thoughts. Mati comes out of the kitchen and asks

It has been over a week since I first and last saw her. That earthshaking nervousness I felt back then feels like a lifetime ago. Now all that fills me is the trembling fear of a foregone conclusion, waking me up every single day with a recurrent nightmare, twitching with a migraine as I gain consciousness, reminiscent of moments where I dare not tread. I am on the verge of being unhinged, losing myself to total dejection.  It seems to me that while that hour of bliss echoes in perpetuity as one of the most exciting moments in my recent life, the same sentiment could not be said for her. It turns out that perhaps I have done more wrong by following my heart, that I have somehow lost her in ways I never thought would be that bad as a result, and that I should not have done it instead. Perhaps I am merely overthinking this, but the manner with which the situation has resulted has turned out to be rather lacklustre and lukewarm, even cold to a degree, and maybe she has found a reason to c

Trying to wrap my head around this... If only I had the answers... The echoes are dying slowly and the void opens up widely, embracing its wide gape to me with solemn charm. Hello, darkness, my old friend. Every passing minute hurts, every second, sweat dripping all over under London weather. I have so many questions in my mind. Do you really even want the answers? Now the smell of melancholy weighs upon my nostrils, suffocating me in intermittent rounds. No warning whatsoever, no heads up. There was nothing subliminal about it. It came to me from the get go, and I kind of just ignored the signs, hoping that the ends justify the means. It was a foolish thing, that, to play with your heart.   No one is to blame but you.  I knew, then, that the place where I was exactly a year ago now never really left. It was always beside me, transmogrified into a cursed bracelet I wore since that fateful day, and why I remain to wear it to this day remains a mystery. You should have left Rosetta'

Vilifying a supposedly wonderful sentiment that once bore me warmth and positivity in my daily routine yet now represents my deepest horrors is indeed a massive demotivator. There has been no inkling of any great and tragic loss, and yet somehow the lingering feeling of mourning occurs within me nonchalantly that is representative of my deep-seated insecurities, now intermingled with the deluge of many unknowable entities of causality, what-ifs, and regrets. Have I done any foolish misstep to deserve this heavy weight imposed upon me by mine own shadow? Does it truly represent that same great evil that once uncovered me for what I could be under unfortunate circumstances wherein I have no control even over my own whims? Or it by some kind of transcendental law or cosmic comedy that submits me into this outcome of inevitability? It seems to me that there is no end to the weight left upon me by the albatross that has found refuge on my shoulder. There is no reprieve to the madness, only

It is time to bid adieu to this great place. Time here has been that of fruits and emotions. Overall I think it was okay for the most part. This was necessary for redemption. The land is prime and beautiful and warm, and so to are its people. And of course, Ainhoa. I could write at length about how I feel, but overall there is a nectar of bittersweet flavours bursting forth when we talk about whom we talk about. Another chance perhaps when the opportunity wills it. Although I will say just one thing: she is splendid. Moreso than I care to deny. Too good for this world. Too good for even I.

Maia, now seventeen years of age, catches the eye of a young man named Stefano, who was two years older than him and went to the same school as her. She is infatuated with his deep brown eyes and sheepish grin, but hesitates to acknowledge his advances out of fear of being made ridiculed for it. He stares at her at every chance he gets whenever she passes by on her way to class at school, and a slight tingle in her body informs her senses of his stare weighing on her. The realisation dawns upon her that this would be the precise moment she would consider her act of first love. One time, as Maia was at the library consumed by the need to study, she finds him at the opposite side of the cubicles minding his own thoughts. She watches him intently without alerting him of her presence, but he notices her anyway, and she has to look away pretending not to be made aware of herself caught in a flagrant act. Moments later, he slowly stood up from his chair and makes his way towards her directio

one coffee silent whispers and apnoea form the velvety thick condensation nuclei where behind is the haunt of your dubious smile losing all inhibitions at the moment in order to please my eager desire to appeal to a broad sensation of multiple emotions entangling all at once tête-à-tête broken illusions now shape tangible fears of formidable flights of fancy no caffeine could ever hope to endure under the most auspicious of nights with aerated laiche in lieu of the more commonplace epithet which I clepe a dream once thought vain now made reality

Throwing my money shot to whoever wants to catch it. I suppose it is a price to pay in order to counterbalance the big anomaly. Today was a hard pill to swallow. Two ta-das straight and I am feeling somewhat rejuvenated. One before sleep and one again after waking up. The weather was unwell, very unrepresentative of what I know of the island so far. Feels like I have acclimated, and then the next thing you know we are back to English breeze. I fear for the unknown of the morrow. There is an awful lot of crap to deal with from the get-go. I woke up to the accidental discovery of hospital call. An immediate need to remind me of trouble brewing in paradise, and insofar as I am aware, this inherent stubbornness for me to accept this discovery is due to my capacity to give two fucks about overlapping conundrums. Were I to be more receptive about the goings-on, I would be the most altruistic piece of shit known to man, and yet, I clearly am not ready for this news. Immediately informed my si