Is it possible to lose a part of ourselves forever?
Hmmmm. What does it mean, to lose parts of ourselves?
When you’re no longer able to do certain things or if you don’t feel the same way about things anymore. A hobby, or memories.
I guess it depends on what we consider as ‘ourselves’.
I feel like, maybe, I’ve lost that part of me that used to think loads and loads all the time with little effort at all. Especially when I’m travelling. On the bus, or on the train. I used to have my head filled up with loads of thoughts non-stop. Now, I can last a whole trip to school without ever thinking about much.
Really, I hardly ever think much about things now, not unless I force myself to. Like now. Writing helps me a lot. I would have never thought about some things if I hadn’t decided to just sit in front of the keyboard and stare into space and think for a while.
I don’t know. A part of me feels a little sad. But I guess there’s a certain peace inside of me when there’s quietness in my head.
I’m sad because my thoughts make me who I am, and not having them as often makes me feel like I’ve lost a bit of myself. I’m really thankful that I kept most of my thoughts here. Who knows what would have happened to them, lost out there somewhere in the world of where things are thrown.
That place must be a sad, sad place.
Quiet, and still. Not the kind of quiet that you’d get in the countryside, but the dead kind of quiet. It would be dark, and every step you take in that place will return you empty echoes of a far away place. It would be filled with rusty things, the air, stale and mouldy. Everything thrown here piles up in mountains and hills.
Every once in a while, it rains, not water but thoughts. Torn pages of a book filled with hasty scribbles and rough sketches flutter down like crumpled autumn leaves. A disfigured tune that doesn’t quite sound complete. Sometimes, you’d even see the shadow of a limp person falling like a rag doll, forgotten.
You come down here sometimes to scavenge for what you can. Sometimes you’d be able to find what you came here seeking after. Sometimes not. Dark creatures roam these lands, and they’re probably the reason why things are lost forever. They hunt for the things ripe and old. Almost shadow-like, with eyes that glow red in the dark, they prowl the lands without a sound. They too are forgotten creatures, no one even remembers their shape or have the faintest idea what they look like except for their eyes. They swallow up what they please and the things they eat become a part of the shadow itself, lost forever in the darkness.
haha. Suddenly just had an idea for a story that I may never write and that might end up in such a place.
Wei Qian told me, “I wish I can get into your head and see what it’s like.” when I was describing to her everything about the story I had in my head. I can still picture it in my head. But It’s really hard for me to think up of something new now. I wish I could get back into my past head too. I can’t concentrate as well. I can’t lose myself in my head anymore as I did in the past. I’d just stare into a spot and not be there for a while. Or bury my nose in my notebook and scribble furiously away. (I must not lose those notebooks if I can) See why I feel like i’ve lost a part of myself? Technically, the whole lot of this story is a part of me. That’s why it meant so much to me back then, and it’s hard to explain to people why this make-believe world could mean anything at all.
The port of Archway, shaped like a crescent moon resting on a huge cloud like an embedded gem. The ships sailing in the sky with segmented iron wings. Hauyne in his dirty white coat billowing in the wind. The cosy little home in which he lived in with his mother, Maya, jutting out into the sky. Hawk meat soup and pinned notes on the walls with every request he’d ever had. The dust sprites puffing away in little balls of spider-web-like threads. The small window overlooking the bank with numerous ships dotting the sky like a flock of birds. The single lone chair at the window waiting for his father’s return from a hunting job which never came.The clouds rolling in like waves onto the port’s bank.
And Ekan’s story, which came from a nightmare I had. A thief, son of the leader of the greatest clan of thieves Sky has ever been terrorised by (Haven’t thought of a name for them yet). The moonlit market, and its cursed residents forever doomed to rely on a horrible black liquid that keeps them awake for as long as they live (it tastes like chicken essence). A thirst for revenge after the murder of his sister Kira in her sleep. As the knife pierced through her heart, her face cracked like porcelain and a single tear rolled down her cheek (This was the nightmare). And somehow he and Hauyne end up on the biggest hunting job of their entire lives.
The Parhelian army, and Silus and Milliana. (There’s quite a lot I need to change about the darker forces. So I’m scraping a lot of ideas:( )
There’s a lot more that’s out there but they feel quite faint. Somewhere in the distance. I think i might be able to remember them if I continue writing on about what I remember but I think I need to sleep soon.
Soon, as in now.