Pieces of Moonbeams

CXLIV: a heartbeat of things

it makes me wonder, why do we always enjoy reading at night?

is that because we can concentrate more while reading? is it because we ought to absorb each word springing from spaces upon spaces projecting into view? is it because no sound can be heard inside of your room? is it because to release all that pent-up emotions unscathed 'cause you chose to not let it out? is it because our parts felt missing again?

it is the premiere of midnight, i bought a movie to watch a movie filming inside my brain: who're the characters? where's the setting? where's the atmosphere set into?

the instillation of buzzing of cicadas outside the window. the light of my phone paving on my faceless identity during this moment.

whilst i am in this hour, at midnight, only i am awake. only i could see of how the world was still beautiful even when it's evening. only i could hear people's muffled eardrums and silent heartbeats—treading into mellow dreams, lucid and vivid, like a DSLR camera recording what life you had for it to take a snap at.

in this hour, in this nimble time, my limbs were numb as my flesh that were busted off from a tedious day. i felt i couldn't surrender my worries away even for a second. i felt that my thin hair couldn't even lay beside my pillows. i felt like today, even hasn't go out from yesterday—like still it hasn't slipped through the wombs of its mother. a feet in shallow grounds craving to gaze a wide-view upon the world. a head stitched on the flesh: flesh entertwined to flesh. flesh upon veins covering droplets of blood. blood to bones. bones to heartbeat.

a heartbeat. a split-pump that brings back aliveness. ahh, a heartbeat. i love to hear your heartbeat...how does it beat? how many syllables did it speak on your aorta? how many thumps did occur when your ventricles drifted away from each other?

a string entangled to a string. so much of life is twined in a single rope embroidered by the universe. grids crushed into nine-pieces of human lives.

a heartbeat.
i wish i were a cat.

pale skin's submerging in cotton-fabrics
keeping me warm. warmth. love's warmth. affections afflicting camouflage. ahh, see through me. see the grids resembling a part of me whole. grids are squares. frames of cameras diverged into focal reality—a shot from a disappearing second.

a heartbeat.
i wish i were a cat.
i wish someone's hands could give me warmth. a snapshot of reality.

randomness blurting out notions of thoughts in the silence of the night.

i think—love is choosing what we love. love is like the slice of your smile going uphill after you've chosen what you love to do in this world. what do we wanna do? what do we love? what do we don't love? love isn't inherently afflicted just to ease the aching. to console wistful emotions. to etch bliss into sadness.

love is not without us choosing to love it. everything we love are a part of us. a part—a bit, a piece. like how you layer & layer yourself & shape into form void of trickery and brimmed with rawness. raw. pure. like minted coins you wish in a well devoid of magics of destinies & strings of faith.

a singe staircase we love to step our foot as if we'll climb the lofty mountains ever existed.

and, oh, flowers. i reiterated the beauty & its simpleness again. a garden outside the porch. a flower. how unearthly that patterns & grids are consistent in spite of being a tedious subject.

out of randomness, my heart beats.
i wish i were a cat.
lugging at my owners arm at night.
then reading letters i couldn't understood.

August 26, 2023 (1:27am)
Ps. I was really really sleepy writing this.
It was still sloppy and incomplete. The randomness of thoughts!! HAHAHA xD.