I took my sleeves and rubbed it against the window. It's interesting how you start to notice things you were once blind to. Maybe we need to be on the outside to see things clearer. 

Did I choose to be on the outside? No, I was forced out. I was dragged out to the streets against my will. I, once a respected member of the inside, was kicked out by the people I once loved, and spat on by the people I once kissed.

I fiddled with the lighter in my hand, and asked myself, "Will this really be worth it?"

---

The sword on the battlefield does not distinguish between the good and the evil. The victor determines who the heroes and villains are. 

My mouth was feeling parched, and I struggled to breathe. My hands started to bleed from gripping the sword too tightly. Everything in me wanted to give up. And so I fell to my knees and shut my eyes, awaiting the fates to overtake me.

Memories

"How does my wife look?" you ask.

Now that I think about it, I honestly don't know. I know deep down there is some vague image of her.

Hmmm, does she have long hair or short? Are her eyes blue or brown? Is there a birthmark on her face? I don't know for sure.

What is her height? What is her weight? Does she always wear a watch? Are her shoes red or green?

Well, it's not that I have amnesia, or any form of memory loss. Yes I know we've been married 60 years. It's just... I've been looking at her heart so long I haven't been paying attention to her outer appearance anymore.

Royce

Sometimes I talk to myself.

I mean, I've tried. Some days I talk to others.
But no one responds, as though I am non-existent.

Ten years I have haunted this white tower.
Ten years I have overlooked the foggy river.
Ten years I have seen the construction of the bridge to cross the foggy river, and the countless times they have failed. Why do they try so hard? Why do they build a bridge to cross into that which is unknown.

I'd like to tell them that. Actually, I have told them that. But they wouldn't listen.

Or maybe they can't listen to me. Do I even exist?

Ten years, I have sat in this white tower.
With this gift I wrapped ten years ago.
This gift I prepared for the unknown guest beyond the foggy river.

Ten years ago, they celebrated the master plan to build a vertical bridge and to lower it to cross the foggy river. They could only build it vertically, because no one dared to step into the foggy river. Tales were told of the dangers the rivers possessed. They hoped that when they lowered the bridge, the secret of what lied beyond the river would be discovered. But ten years later, bridge after bridge released, and bridge after bridge collapsed. No one knew how long the bridge had to be. Some collapsed because they were too short. Some because the structure was unstable. But ten years later, no one knew what was beyond the fog.

Ten years of building. Ten years unrequited.

Everyone gets a trophy.

I could blame you. I could blame her. I could blame him.
I could blame them all.

But truth be said, I can only blame myself.
In the game of chance, you win some and you lose some.
I won two days ago, and I thought I would win again.
Unfortunately, fates had it otherwise.

Without hope, there can be no disappointment.
It is better to be hated sometimes, than to have never been loved.
It is better to have been disappointed sometimes, then to have never seen your dreams come true.
Without losing, there can be no winners.
Participation trophies are a joke.

I stood at the gates of the gladiator arena.

You could hear the crowd roaring, their cheers deafening. The air was dry and sandy. 

The myths, the legends and stories were aplenty. The story of the warrior who upon stepping out of into the ring having his head chewed clean off. The story of the double-headed beast that breathes fire. The story of the prisoner that fought a legion of soldiers and stood tall on the mountain of dead bodies at dusk.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead and let out a sigh. They say the chemical reaction in your brain for both the feeling of nervousness and excitement is the same. I tried to calm my nerves by faking a half-smile, telling myself that this was mere excitement.

“Are you scared?” asked my fellow prison-mate standing next to me.

“Yes.” I replied.

“Well, then let’s be scared together.”

Reckless dancing

In my youth, I thought myself wise.
In my pride, I danced with folly.
I made gambles that were risky,
Of advices, I heeded none.

In my youth, I thought I knew,
The inner and outer workings of life.
I saw the world as my colouring book,
Thought myself too mature for it.

Step after step, I chased after air,
Running and jumping, but landing on my face.
Never once stopped to consider,
That maybe I haven't figured it out.

I was always chasing perfect moments of grandeur,
Never stopping to smell the roses along the way.
Little did I know that the journey,
The little fragments of moments in between make up the destination.

Now I will never relive those memories,
My hopes can't change reality.
The way they are played out in my head,
They are, but untouchable.

Now that I am older and slightly wiser,
This is my only resolve.
In every step I take till death,
That I think myself none the wiser.