Everytime I close my eyes,
Sunday afternoon comes to mind.
Sometimes when I close my eyes,
there is only white noises.
The Sunday in my head is always sunny;
rarely it rains.
When it rains on Sunday,
I am reminded of school uniform;
sweaty and sticky,
but it is still Sunday.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I can smell Sunday.
The smell of Sunday in my head—
consists of jasmine, pandan, and milk.
The Sunday in my head rarely rains.
When it rains, it smells like **** and soil.
The sunny side of my Sunday is not always bright—
and my wet Sunday is not always gloomy.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I see myself tracing Sunday.
I run my fingers through the odds of—
possibilities and the ambience of the present.
You see, I cannot imagine anyone but myself—
in my Sunday.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I see no one.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I see silhoutte of myself.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I see myself leaving trails.
Everytime I close my eyes,
It was all in my head all along.
Blessed with the odds,
my Sunday goes by very slowly;
so slow sometimes I caught myself in turbulence.
From violent shower to the still lake,
I avoid meeting myself on the foreground.
If I ever crossed path in the middle,
I would be non-existent;
none of this would matter,
and there will never be my Sunday.

Sarah Radzi
In Between Four Walls,
19.08.2018,
01:56

I often live by the rules
of it's okay I'll get through this.
if this way doesn't work,
there's plenty more.
i should be calm, shouldn't i?
often i have to remind myself
the what ifs of life;
anchored to the ground
as if I've been drowning for a while,
or head's in the cloud, light-
its a part of the process, right?
the part where im soiled with combat? the part where my body
will be devoured til i am one
with my heart and my mind,
and i am the seed
that will break through the surface;
gasping for air, longing for the rain
to wash my sins
and the light that will guide me to me;-
my subconscious is always at war,
and my body is a battlefield,
and i can never seem
to make peace with it.

Your surrounding
may not be a familiar sight to me,
but you; it's home.
As for me, it's not getting better.
People always say that time heals,
but i can never comprehend what was, what is and what will.
It's as if im in a circle of ups and downs but when im down here,
it's always a long haul
and everyday feels like a loop
of constant motion
of questions and regrets.
It gets harder to pick up phone calls, talking to family members are exhausting.
You could give me 24 hours a day to be alone and it still won't be enough.