Emotions know no logic

So she said.

And i love her all the more for staying by me now.

in this miasma of blankness that does not cease to choke.

Those who should love do not, and those that do feel pain for that.

She remembers the hug she witnessed between me and one i loved dearly,

and she said it made her feel.

Emotions humble me.

When did i let this happen?

When did i let myself wash away in the cold tides of blank, unforgiving logic?

It crept up on me, quiet, sinister, and i

felt the tendrils of hope and happiness wither

poisoned by the chill of ice and the raw, numbing ache of logic

Logic, forced upon emotion.

Rationalising my way toward a symphony of anger.

As i broke upon her shoulder,

tears flowing like they hadn’t for so long.

And guilt and pain and humility for showing that i was weak.

that i am weak.

I felt starngely content.

But now,

anger builds, and to deal with it i find myself rationalising again.

And so we are back to the very beginning,

where i will once again become oh so

carefully

blank.

Am I?

I am taking her advice now.

I am coming to terms with my vulnerability.

I am a contradiction.

I am not perfect.

I am confused.

I am still a child.

I am in love with the world.

I am blinking away bittersweet tears.

I am relishing in introspection.

I am discovering.

I am learning everyday.

I am failing.

I am growing.

I am hurting.

I am blank.

I am Logic.

I am Emotion.

I am grateful.

I am humbled.

I am loved.

I am.

I am not.

I am me.

Happiness resonates

Happiness is a strangely quantified thing;

characteristics are inexplicable contractions of the facial muscles resulting in what is known as a smile,

and the feeling of lightness, rising through your chest and cutting through tensions that so weighed you down before.

Is it not strange? That we quantify emotion as something so tangible, so concrete?

But then again, if emotions are not absolute,

what is?

Because everything is only absolute if we make it so.

Happiness is not something that transcends, but rather resonates.

Inexplicably it’s scale can be told as we radiate it.

But then again, how can others tell when we radiate an emotion? Can that, as a hologram might,

be falsely projected?

No.

Not now.

Now, i refuse to quantify this emotion that i am feeling.

Because, for a long time now,

i have not felt this, the kind of emotion that resonates so strongly that no attempt at suppression works.

Happiness.

Janeway Fingers

Today was a day of quiet revelations,

of re-evaluating the resolutions my heart made for my mind;

Once again imperfections were thrown into sharp relief,

and i cannot say that my heart has escaped altogether unscathed

from the crumbling debris of a pedestal.

As before, i noticed the subtelties you had,

as i do everyone.

The English summer of your perfume

the abandonement of your glee

as you laughed carelessly, without thinking.

I’m glad you’re happy.

But today, i noticed something i hadn’t before.

Your hands.

You had Captain Janeway’s hands.

Fingers, long and slender like hers,

and indubitably gentle even as they flew through the air,

gesticulating to get your points across.

I must say,

i am most amused.

No More Mooning Over You.

Dear you,

logic has come in to cool the heat of what i once thought was passion.

and now i see you through different lenses,

tinted with the cool green of thought

with orange and red fanatism fading off the edges.

Still i love your wondrous voice

but now

that love is tempered with the sting of salty doubt,

second guesses of the insinuations behind certain words

some held longer,

some vanishing as the scent of English soap into the wind.

Is this closure?

I don’t think so, but it is no longer what it was.

You were always different, the singular anomaly that was based on physiology rather than what

lay within.

And now i question if i made an error in judgement.

But still.

I’d have to thank you for that lesson you taught me,

for waking up from this haze of  that golden, gilt trimmed symphony

that i once thought your voice was,

now strangely an instrument

that i cannot place.

Of Sunrises and Oldest Children

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

But we’re back again, to a new familiarity that is not altogether unwelcome.

Taking confidence in you seems easy, as easy as turning and speaking into the void through an open door.

Except.

You’re not a void, are you?

We spoke of the sunrise as we walked, and of pictures you’ve taken.

I have no doubt that they are magnificent, miniature, frozen moments captured,

never to be forgotten.

Thoughts that crowded my mind seemed crystalline, and i delivered them, speaking of my fears and insecurities.

You pause, and then liken me to an oldest child.

It is not an apt analogy; i know i am far too incongruent to fit.

But nonetheless the message gets through, and it seems unfathomable

how you are able to snatch that thought and put it so eloquently.

Then again, age has done for you what premature maturity will never do for me.

And as the sun rises, ever steady in it’s bloody magnificence,

i know the first roots of true happiness are taking root within a heart once chill.

Clouds, Agapē.

For Shoes.

Walking, something compelled me, suddenly to

look to the skies;

Blue, blue, and then a single ribbon of

white

trailing its lazy way across the bright expanse.

All thought flew to you, and

the one you once held dear

Agapē,

I think;

for you and i both know how much we are capable of,

how our hearts will freefall and cartwheel down

in spirals of melancholy

until one, singular, for you,

( or three, for me )

return us what we so foolishly seek to give,

like a child thrusting roses into it’s mother’s hands

only to have them fall, wilted,

dead and withered upon it’s own pale lips.

But do not fear my dear,

for we have each other to cling to;

that is the definition of Agapē,

is it not?

And one day, one day when you no longer long for your

peppermint soldier,

i shall leave you, content to have been

known to you,

a passing breath in your life.

But for now, my dear, 

i’ll sit and watch the clouds with you.

Extrapolation

Always looking in from outside, aren’t you? Plotting a trajectory outside of the given parameters, defying all that data set and given. Your whole life, marked out in little red crosses, in a line snaking it’s way outside of our own set telemetry. Too difficult to classify, you are, as you continue to baffle analysts and defy all of life’s equations that we cannot help but conform to. Oh yes, you are a difficult one, are you not? An extrapolation of society, that impish curve that doesn’t want to come to bed, to rest at the x or y axis, that line that just wants to follow it’s own shape, it’s own set equation of living. No amount of manipulation would solve you, no matter the variable we throw at you. How frustrating. Perhaps it is best that we take this odd line and leave it be, simply accept this strange trajectory arcing over lines of pale green, grids that cannot contain you, cannot hold you forever this

Extrapolation.

Airport

Calmness, strangely

i feel the usual hum of energy surging

as i watch planes take off and land, take off and land,

strange that such monotony gives rise to such wonder

in lands overseas,

over lands.

Insights into lives not our own and yet

i feel connected to them all,

bringing back a piece of all of them

colorful tapestries and rugs

woven from tales of hardship and bliss alike

and in return, giving them a small piece of me,

a child of the world,

still wide eyed and young

in her wanderings of the world.

Hands

Today i felt her before i saw or heard her.

A warm touch, friendly, like an open lily, lain upon my shoulder.

I wonder if she felt the involuntary shiver at that.

She hummed to herself rather nonchalantly, in a strangely content manner.

I was glad that she was happy.

Suddenly writing the note that i was writing seemed like a harder task, for she proved an interesting diversion.

Perhaps it was my habit of observing others. Perhaps not.

The humming stopped, replaced by the irritated rustling of papers.

“Why did they give me this?”

The rarest chords of irritation crept into her mellow, glorious voice.

I half turned, offering her a shrug.

But then a strange thing happened.

She simply lifted her own petite shoulders in another shrug and smiled contentedly, marching off briskly to her destination, humming another tune.

I was bewildered, in all honesty.

But for now, i am happy simply recalling her hands, that simple touch that she bestowed.

For once she acknowledged me before i even noticed her.
For once she showed she gave a darn hoot about my existence.

And that’s all i could ask for now.