Writing – Page 2 – Apple Rae

The silent Mayhem of beautiful Minds

Never in his life, did he thought too much about romance, until he met this woman who made him wonder whether it’s hysteria or love. He debated his way out of this comedy in his head, thinking it’s impossible that it’s the latter.

No, how could it be?

How can someone you just met a few days make you feel heavy in your heart but ironically makes you want to feel the feel of it? He asked himself this question in his head while she talked about the book she was reading and threw some lame jokes he labeled as boring. Well, that’s just his way of teasing her—to battle against the strong wind that brings him closer to her, like she’s a destination. A place destined for him to live in, or perhaps maybe a home. But he fights it, he fights the urge to look at her more than just how he used to look at girls.

She rolled her eyes and turned her back as a sign of unspoken surrender of losing a debate with him. And then sighed a deep sigh for an ambiguous picture of a future together. With her right hand sandwiched between her right cheek and her soft comfy pillow, she looked past the window and wondered how many girls he had slept with. With his charm and wit, she bet he could’ve easily made his way through their hearts, like how he managed to do with hers.

But ofcourse she would never admit it, she was quite smart enough to know it’s wrong to tell him how safe and heavenly she felt sleeping next to him and observing how his soul of masculinity seemed to overpower his femininity—in the sexiest ways of humanness. No, it’s wrong, what if she scares him away?

She liked him, well, she likes him very much but she feared the idea that he doesn’t like him the way she does.

Little did she know, that he cogitated more than she did as he studies the artistic view of her naked flawless back when she turned around. He wondered how come he’s so drawn to her, not just with what her skin shouts, but more with the language her eyes speak that required neither words nor voice. He wanted to trace his fingers from the abstract beauty of her nape down to the edge of her spine to savor the perfection of it but hesitated for a split second because he thought he should just play it cool.

Or should he, really?

Would it hurt much if he would make an exception? He thought, maybe she wouldn’t mind so he stopped battling against it and moved as close as he can, spooned her with his warmth and breathed near the outlines of her left ear.

The hair of her skin stood like it’s being magnetized by a powerful invisible sense as he embraced her from behind. He whispered something to her but she didn’t mind listening—the beats of her heart was louder as it raced like there’s a zombie apocalypse, like she should run for her life, or should she?

Isn’t this moment something she would want to freeze if she could?

#fiction

************

Wrote this at almost 2am here in Iceland, ugh I couldn’t sleep 😂

Of what’s keeping me awake

Words keep me awake. They always ruin my ultimate goal to create a normal sleeping habit of sleep-early, wake-up-early kind of thing. I’ve always fooled myself that I could do it, even my boyfriend almost always roll his eyes in incredulity. Hell, it’s f*cking hard. The eyebags are even worse to look at when you wake up, looking all worn-out and restless despite the idea that you also get atleast seven hours, albeit inconsistently. And yes, the morning after effect always makes me regret staying up til like 3am just to give words some freedom. And yes, I blame the words. These words that give me such indescribable aching pain in an unknown part of my soul or maybe something deeper than that, if there is. Quite a challenge to explain. I’m sure artists (like my boyfriend who actually said this and consider himself a “night owl”) would agree to me if I say that staying wide awake between 12 midnight to 4 am usually gives birth to crazy ideas you didn’t know existed. It’s funny to think I was saying this, after an argument I made with my boyfriend recently when I encouraged him to sleep early to that certain level of absurdity, because even I couldn’t do it. Perhaps it’s that mad debater in me who always wants to win that took place in that “little debate” about sleep and oh yes, that’s a totally different story. I’m talking about words and what they do to me. And this is not just about “seeing” words that fly above my head in my consciousness but more. I don’t just see words. I FEEL them. And sometimes I find it ludicrous, most days I laugh at my own. I laugh at my own sense of folly for thinking that words have a soul, that they have a meaning, that they have a heart that beats of hope and of love. It’s true, that I sometimes feel ashamed with the idea that I exaggerate things uncontrollably and unconsciously but oh God, this is what completes me—as a writer and as a person overall. It completes me… feeling words and hearing them having each distinct sound and melody that compliments my current mood. How spectacular, I thought. To look at words as magical and mysterious—to that extent that they surprise me everyday of the depths of sense they evoke in me. Isn’t it odd? That having too much passion also has its consequences? Like the abnormal sleeping habits, obnoxiously looking eyebags and having a mind that wanders all the time and one that could hardly focus at times? It’s absolutely weird but you know, I thank the heavens for it. Not everyone, especially in this day and age, has the courage to speak proudly yet in the most modest manner ever, about what he truly wants and what makes him tick. Of what he dreams of becoming one day and of what he’s really passionate about. And what’s even worse, is some of us don’t even know what we TRULY want to begin with. Thus, I decided to talk big of what makes me happy, of something I wouldn’t trade for gold, of something I have in me that no one have the capacity to steal. Now, what’s yours? What’s keeping you awake at 3am? Is it music? Is it art? Is the the girl of your dreams? Or is it the reveries you’re having of being Number One? What’s stopping you from embracing it? Fears? Is it that fear of judgment that kills the strength in your bones? Damn it, that’s already a thing in the past! We’re now in this time where all the resources and even sources of motivation are open and available to inspire us to pursue our calling. Hence I therefore challenge you to conquer your fears and do the reason why you wake up (even despite the lack of sleep) with a full smile on your face everyday and do it with so much fire and passion that people would think you’re too much or maybe even call you crazy—and it’s alright. Atleast you know what you want and you don’t fake it. People who fake it sometimes make it, but you know, it expires. Soon they will run out of energy pulling up the invisible strings in both edges of their lips just to show people they’re fine. But not You. Because YOU know exactly why you breathe and you know that one day you will seize whatever it is that keeps you awake. I encourage you to do what you want and do it with so much heart and I promise you, you will never run out of reasons to live. Be passionate. Stop boring yourself doing the things you don’t really like. Like what my mentor said before, there’s no such thing as “lukewarm”. There’s nothing in between. It’s either you go up or you go down. Stop jailing yourself in that little box. Go out there, do what you want, and discover what life has to offer en route to your dreams.

(Above photo is an original Digital Painting crafted beautifully by the best artist and boyfriend in the world 🧡)

Believe me, it’s there..

Life could sometimes be confusing, throwing you a bunch of questions in your face that forces you to impatiently seek for answers—heedless of the odds that it’s just there, beating for the light you may have overlooked, speaking for what God wants you to do. A heart that speaks of love and faith has never failed, never. Believe me, it’s just there. ♥️

Why do you write?

77c0b91272e7f43e0bd6f0b9735e204e

“Writing is the only thing, that, when I do it, I don’t feel I should be doing something else.” –Gloria Steinem

You write because you love it, don’t you? But then you look around you and notice that particularly immense edge they have, that unbelievably out-of-the-box wit you hope you possess, that mind-boggling and cleverly written posts you wonder how they were able to pull that off through words so perfectly with the right emotions. How? How do they do it? And you look at yourself and the works you create finding out how clichéd and how boring them posts you have made. You doubt yourself for the grey possibility of having your book published, yet you write anyway. You write because you want to make your readers laugh or maybe cry or maybe just be inspired. You write for a purpose, right? For a bigger purpose, a matter of fact. Like maybe making a difference or just to share your thoughts to the world and maybe to train yourself to be better. You write not only to express yourself but to be yourself, for you are you, the real you, each time you type away the emotions you’ve been holding tight. So, what’s holding you back? Ideas are all around you, why don’t you start? You have penned so many drafts but are too terrified to post them because you think that it’s crap. Hey, listen. You have to cease from being trapped. Trapped with your own set of analysis paralysis that kills your gut. Magnify that burning passion you have for writing and awaken that heart that’s open for new learnings. Write for all your reasons, but please, please… don’t forget to do it for yourself, too.

The irony of hot showers

She turned the heater higher, so the splash of the shower burns her skin to its numbness.

With her head down, eyes gently closed and her hands touching her breasts—she let the strength of the maximum heat of water embrace her raw self, her nakedness, her pained and tired body.

Did I just say tired?

Yes she’s tired.

Just like you, she feels very exhausted.

A hot shower is her way out, a treat, to make herself feel numb as she cries it all out, til she becomes empty, til there’s no more left inside.

Don’t we all need to sometimes be numbed?

For too much feelings are now stories in the past.

For too much analysis kills the protagonists and that some days it’s better to feel none.

For you need to sometimes let pain overrule and cling to you, til there’s nothing left as it burst out— a certain kind of nothingness that alleviates the state. Nothingness that rescues you from the dark.

Let the irony of hot showers send you cold shivers from your wrinkly palms down to your sore soles saying: You’ve been there for too long, you needed to get out.

Cold shivers despite its massive heat that remind you that that’s just the way of life. A cycle full of metaphors, riddles and fights.

Cold shivers that will now make you turn the shower off, because you’re done.

And this is the part where I hope we can all say we’re truly done and mean it.

********

#fictionalfictionbutnottotally😂