Designer: Manikka
Resources: 1 2 3

These words don't come out of impulse, or thin air. They are inscribed by every heartbeat, every tear, every single time a lump in my throat forced an iloveyou, back down -by the cloudiness in her eyes and my loss of depth perception.

They are cloaked by fear and torn out, for the World to see, not by desperation or the intensity of loneliness..they are taken letter by letter, phrase by phrase, by the one thing that can heal and forgive and piece anything broken, back together.

Of all the things that have found ways to escape my lips or be put into characters by my fingers' tips, she must know..that these words are few of the many pieces of my soul left which collect and perfect themselves for her, exclusively. We (we being these few pieces and my little brain) can only hope to process every heartbeat and tear and misplaced iloveyou, as we try and fail to find out about and process hers, in time to forget regret and tear down walls and let loose secrets and, and..and weaken defenses!

I never should've thought about burdening her with the task of seeing past the flesh, or the kind of words that only come with tears and anger and hurt. I never should've asked of that much from her -she told me not to expect anything from her and no matter what I agreed to, I guess a part of me still wanted to..a part of me still had to ask her to meet me half-way; because there is so much I am lacking.

This silence cannot possibly incorporate all the hurt..all the doubt..I feel the rest of the world (along with the World), passing me by in strobe-light speed. I can blink twice and miss it. I can turn around once and never stop spinning. Just..like..that.

No, this silence cannot even begin to fathom the ways in which I miss her or the reasons for which I do. Because in everytime she pushes me away, the strings by which the porcelain doll's cloth unravelled -the strings put into the wooden puppet's hands, catch my every step. They've left insignificant marks up and down my limbs, they've caught me by the throat, they've strung my promises together and left the rest of the world up for hanging.

At the most precise movements, they've found cues to pull away my curtains and bring it all to centerstage..every emotion free of pretense, every face behind the masks. But Heaven knows if any of this is even close to enough.

We can only hope to surpass pride and take hold of circumstance.
Someone once said we could move God..
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