do you sometimes get the funny feeling of being flushed back into the swirl of nostalgia?
the kind of feeling that you cant, for God knows what reason, rub off. it's not the good kinda feeling.
it's one of those that is laced with a tinge of regret.
the sort that has this air of hopelessness hanging around you, simply because it's in the past and there's really nothing you can do to change it.
let's call this fella, Smoke.
Smoke tends to find its way into your thoughts.
sometimes in the middle of doing some other non-related errand, or when something you happen to get your hands on - triggers a thought of his existence.
Smoke diffuses into your mind and system. He'll dance around your nose and eyes, wave in between your limbs and hair strains, making you trigger all your alert points.
he'll swim between your fingers, slide between your brain crevices, knocking at your dormant senses and impulses.
somehow, Smoke would flood your mind and heart with all things related in that Long Forgotten Or More Like Ignored storage box.
he then paralyses your mind, bringing rapid thoughts of 'what ifs' and 'whys'. Silly notions that you know you have no concrete answers to, or you know you cant even materialise them.
he'd sneak and swirl around your neck, whispering your inner thoughts into your ears for you to hear it audibly.
sometimes if he decides to give you a little scare or shock, Smoke would use his tendrils to suffocate you, to drench your mind with fear and to glaze your eyes with panic.
but like a master of thieves, his sudden capturing act is replaced with his sleek, smooth move - allowing sweet oxygen to slowly reach to your hurting lungs again.
you are stabbed with fear, anxiety, regret and all that nerve-wrecking needles.
it is then, does Smoke decide to leave you. like a seasoned burglar, he doesnt leave a trace. not a footprint or even a whiff of his scent lingering.
he leaves you to think, to ponder, to conjure an imagination wide and weird. all covered with that web of apprehension.
but Smoke leaves you with an unwritten message: he will come back again.
time is his own to decide anyway.
without your knowledge or warning.
to wipe your senses and warp your cockpit control system in a whirlpool, all over again.
now tell me, how is that a good feeling?
Labels: insides, jittery, ponder
