"What do you mean?" Paragraphs consisting of jumbled up strings of words, hopelessly trying to explain what plays out in my head. It never really comes out right. Somewhere along the way, the words alter, the phrases change. I wonder "Does anyone really want to hear all this?" It seems to me that it's human nature - the inability to paint the mind you see plastered permanently behind your sight. I want to say so much, to empty my head and see what would be thought of the contents. I want to go on and on about how I have a strange fascination for alleys between houses in the evenings, books on the top of shelves in bookshops and people who sit alone in restaurants. I want to ask if I'm crazy if I say that I want to go on a road trip by myself for a few months to experiment if I would be consumed by loneliness or peace. I want to talk about how I've always thought of writing a book and filming a documentary about struggles. Struggles both big and small from people of a diversity so vast that it'll make your head ache with the realisation that there is so much we don't know. I want endless questions and explanations, I want to hear stories, I want to touch fragments of emotions. But I like them in paragraphs.

Paragraphs about the meanings that dawn on me at the most unexpected times about the most unexpected things. The ocean scares me. But I had once found myself being mesmerised by the idea of sitting on the sand at 11pm staring out into it, the tips of the tide inches away from my toes. It was so dark. The water looked dark, housing a world that I didn't know, a world that was used to living in this darkness through the hours of the night. But the sound, oh God, the sound of the waves. The waters were getting ready for midnight, lulling themselves to sleep with the calm sound of their movement. I was so scared but I was so fixated. Why did I do that to myself? I was starting to do this often - looking straight at what I'm scared of, letting the uncomforted wreak so much within me that I become numb. It was a mind trick, a way to let myself assume that I wasn't afraid anymore. Paragraphs about the sky. Lengthy justifications about how I wish I could feel the colours, how I want to let myself beam as bright as 12pm blues and let my heart fade out as calm as 7pm sunsets. I especially like dusks where the colors melt together, different shades of pastel smeared across the sky. Colors that don't come from the same palette but jive together all the same. Confused yet belonging. Paragraphs that make rounds in my head, without a receiver.

Paragraphs written out of frustration. The ones that I wish a couple of drinks would dissolve, maybe they weren't making any sense because I was too uptight, too put together. But it never works that way. Mid sentence cliffhangers that end up being wiped out and thrown away. They take hours to think through, seconds to send across but weeks to get over. I hate these paragraphs the most. I hate the feel of them on the tips of my fingers and the taste of them on my tongue. But I'm glad I'm one that manages to laugh things off so easily.

Paragraphs that I want to treasure. Sudden declarations of love and being missed, of being thankful and having trust. I've always liked words, I feel like some things can only be expressed with so much conviction in that way rather than through the voice of mouth. It's debatable, I know. But sometimes timings will never be right, distractions can never be avoided and priorities are hard to shift - a paragraph can run around that though, it still manages to keep the needed isolation, the necessary secrecy. I can't read it now? Alright, I'll read it later. You said that to me? Let me read that again. Yes, alright. You did. It's always important to reassure, to remind the people that are in doubt. These paragraphs, they're ones you'll never stop missing even if you got one a second ago. It's beautiful, the feeling. It's the footprints of your happiest memories and your favourite people. It's the realisation that no matter how much things have changed, I've made someone feel like this before and I've had a taste of this beautiful feeling so many times. You can't preserve the beauty like this, you just need to wait for the next shot of it. Temporarily felt, but permanently etched. Paragraphs that should be written in letters and sticky notes, because it makes it that much easier to remember when you feel the words brushing against your fingertips.

Paragraphs that I've lost and paragraphs that I've found. Paragraphs that got the response I wanted, and paragraphs that sure as hell didn't. Paragraphs that have changed things, for better and for worse. None of these paragraphs I can ever forget, or so to say, none of them I want to forget.