engr.albertmike

I admire the person you are, not only for what you do, but for the way you move through the world like it belongs to you. I admire your confidence, your freedom, your unguarded smile, even your thirst trap photos,  bold, unashamed, alive. They hold the shape of things I once wanted or maybe still want, for myself. In a strange,  quiet way, you make me want  to keep fighting. I am turning thirty-five, and I still feel like I am trying to figure life out, as if I ever truly did. They say it’s never too late. But it feels late when you are chained to responsibilities you once set aside When your mind carries scars from an upbringing  that bruised softly but lasted long. From experiences  that carved too deep, from the rooms that taught you to survive by detaching. I was not always this distant. I did not  mean to become someone harder to reach. Being open now feels like walking barefoot on glass. Staying positive feels rehearsed. Trust...

I’ve got a mind that maps the stars, but trips on simple parking bars. Equations dance beyond my reach, yet somehow I still learn and teach. They said, “It’s easy—just divide.” I smiled and let my soul subside. “Borrow the ten, carry the two,” I’d rather wrestle thoughts anew. The clock ticks loudly, but I can’t tell How long I’ve sat inside this shell. Fractions flirt then run away, percentages just won’t obey. But I see patterns in a song and build things others get all wrong. My brain can dream, can feel, can draw, It’s just the numbers that feel raw. A left is right, a mile’s a mist, receipts are chaos on a list. But give me space to work my way, and I will still invent the day. So don’t mistake the tilted path as a failure in the world of math. I’m wired weird, but wired well A quiet storm with lots to tell.

Sick of being sick, tired of being tired. Sick of being tired, tired of being sick. Unmotivated, uninspired, anxious, sad. Trying makes it worse, trying makes it numb. Positivity is negativity; negative still is. Mornings are at 9 sleeping near sunrise Minding the clock makes it slow, Neglected time flows rapid. Waiting for something. Something should be waiting. The same dusty ceiling upon drifting and waking.  

They say life can be a song, but no, it’s not. Life is a playlist of songs. Yes, it is.   Sad and angry notes, to crying and screaming "why", or with the beats like you were in a marching band.   It can be lean-back happy, or sure, you wanna dance. Lifts you up, pumps you up.   Lets you be you, closed fist held high, strumming all throughout, just come to play.   After all the noise, in slow motion, the golden echoes this is what it feels like.

I carry them folded in my chest maps of places that never stayed. Not by memory, but by ingrams.   My visuals are always blurry. Other senses are sharp. Geomantic empathy. Nostalgia can be a stop.   Streets blur into sepia during warm evenings. Rain adds drama to the silent pavement.   I trace them when the night is slow, wondering if the sea was really that blue. If the house still leans toward the same morning light.   Memory redraws what memory ruins, turning rivers into roads, faces into fading cliffs. Darting shadows on dimly lit streets.   Some skies are dark even with no clouds Starlight on a grassy rotunda. Echoes of wary footsteps. whispers absence.   And though I never find the way back. It feels enough to know, that I once belonged somewhere I don’t want to be found. 

Admiring the strength of the hands, the way of handling delicate things. Laugh and just say, “practice,” as if that explains everything.   Kneel only to hear the anticipation, measure the satisfactory proportions. Memorize the way eagerness tightens the voice. Your devotion is quiet, deliberate Patience is learned through someone’s hard work. Guiding without ever needing words. Listening with your whole attention, until even silence starts to tremble.   Take the higher ground like a decision made. Settling weight where control takes Finding balance on one’s shoulder, letting gravity add leverage.   Every rise feels like a question, Every fall, like an answer already knew The way confidence learns to move. Setting the pace without a word. Facing each and refrained conversation Someone’s dialogue of dominance Insults landed closer than the last Response silenced by some other’s tongue   Handcuffed at some point negotiating with pleas and taunts Hands pinne...