Life As A Writer

Michael Daaboul. 26 y/o from Australia/Melbourne. Digital Designer & Creative Writer.

creative writing

What is there to do?
What is there to see?
I don’t want to be stuck in the ordinary
I don’t want to be a victim of the routine.

I don’t want a 9 to 5 job
I want to be different.

I want to disappear into your arms
I want you to take me away.

Show me a place where no one has been
Show me the place where your heart has been.

Show me, you.

Show me what it’s like to dance between your legs
Show me what it’s like to touch you.

Michael Daaboul

The Day I Decided to be Broken

Why did I stay?

I have never seen a mind quite like this one. I couldn’t sense her; I couldn’t feel what she was, or what she was feeling. I couldn’t read her.

Naturally, I wanted to know more. I was instantly pulled towards her, she fascinated me. She baffled my understanding, my logic, everything I knew, when I looked at her, I felt like I knew nothing.

I had this howling desire to be with her. And I did just that, I hurled my entire existence in her direction, every part of me. It was an obsession, it was freedom, all strangely intertwining together, kissing and being stubborn all at the same time.

Nothing about me or her, or our unbending minds could change it, both strong and weak, soaking up every moment.

All I did was let my emotional universe become consumed, I let it become, in its entirely, completely consumed. My mind had an equal, every thought expanded to the point I had no more understanding of what was happening.

This whole situation was awfully blemished, but she was there, larger than the planet itself, looking straight at me; this one person, precarious and so fragile.

I knew from the beginning that she would destroy me and for a fleeting moment that seemed to last a lifetime, it didn’t bother me. Every emotional tug-of-war and every crack that surfaced, I didn’t mind. My mind was feeding from the calamity from her lips and my whole existence was one with her.

Why did I stay? I stayed because I wanted to be broken, I wanted to be destroyed in such a way that I didn’t recognise who I was anymore. I was terminal, emotionally exhausted and weak. There was nothing left of me which was the perfect opportunity to evolve into something much more. How well did I know myself? How could I become someone else in a state of crisis?

I thought I knew who I was, but, I knew nothing at all.

What Nostalgia Sounds Like

I used to write to you all of this cute stuff that only you would understand. I would put a goofy emoticon at the end, because I would be smiling; and I know you would have a goofy smile on your face reading my silly stuff.

I will then ask you how your day is going. If you slept okay last night? Talk to you about all the small details. I will read with such curiosity, my eyes would anxiously wait for every detailed letter from your fingertips. I won’t reply back straight away, but you’re as bad as me, and we both can’t wait more than a few minutes before breaking and reply back at the exact same time!

I will tell you that I need to get you a gift because your birthday is soon and you try to guess what kind of gift I will get you. You know I’m not going to tell you, but it’s your cute way of dropping small hints. Then I will tell you I can’t believe it’s almost DECEMBER, and we’ll both lay down and wonder where has the time gone? Then we’ll talk about our little adventures putting up the Christmas tree and you will tell me about your special arrangements with all the decorations.

After all of that nonsense, I will quietly tell you how beautiful you are and you will be silent for a few seconds as if you heard the most amazing melodic lyric you have ever heard and you can’t reply but faint just a little inside.

What Love Sounds Like

You have always looked so amazing, if there ever comes a day where I don’t love you anymore, I want you to know that everything I said wouldn’t have been a lie.

It was real once upon a time.

I know it’s sad, we won’t be how we used to be. I will miss how we used to be, just like the first time that I saw you. We will remember how we laughed nervously and when our laughing fit has subsided, you would look at me, like really look at me and without saying a single word, your heart will sync to the beat of mine.

I can’t really remember, but I think you will hold me tight and you won’t let me go, always and forever you would say, and I will always love you, but forever is not such a long time when you say it.

You know, there’s not much point to your love when you have disappeared from my life. What exactly are you loving? The memory of me? The history?

Life is not about who you have had, the history, it’s about your ongoing experiences, who you will spend eternity with. Your distant love is a word. Your sentence, your text messages, your feelings are in the moment.

What does your love sound like next year?

If there ever comes a day when the routine becomes a loud echo, you will become boring and annoying. When you become nasty and a miserable wrecking ball, you will compare yourself to your friends. When the whole world is moving forward and you’re standing still, you will start questioning the relationship you’re in. If you’re not growing and your mind is a wretched mess, you will run away.

Your love is weak like me. You’re fragile like me.

Who are you looking for when love sounds like me?

Susie’s Sorrow

The curtain’s drawn on a dark, dusty room
That once was alive with the sound of voices
But when one voice chocked and never retuned
What lived and thrived had become an echo

An echo that drifts and never fades away
Resurfacing as a reminder of what once was
Where the memories explode with each drop of rain
And where the heart lingers and yearns for closure

What perished is gone yet its presence is here
Disembodied and robbed of what it was owed
To be here for today and to have a tomorrow
But where tomorrow will be one less reason to smile

One reason less for one imprisoned soul
That befriends a pillow that once rested and warmed
The one that remains but will never grow old
Forever to be wept for it is Susie’s sorrow

Written by Charles Daaboul


They told me to fight for what you want; you know, grab it with both hands and don’t let it go.

I was inspired. It lifted my self-confidence and self-worth. Made me believe, I should fight for everything.

Trying to absorb everything that life is and what it’s about, trying to learn how to present myself and subconsciously placing mines in the back of my mind about what a particular person thought about me.

Am I good enough? Can I make a mistake? What if I make a mistake? What if, what if, what if, what if.

I was always concerned about what other people thought. Did I have to set a standard, do I care what the person in the white shirt thought?

Why did I care? Why do I try to be someone that I’m not? Am I trying to be a better me?

All these questions, no one hands you a manual about anything. I learn best when I make mistakes, but why? Am I too stubborn to see otherwise? That I need to inflict enough pain, cause enough damage for life to uppercut my understanding in such a way that I bleed enough to stop and learn.

I need to lose. I need to feel loss. I need to fear. I need to understand if I’m too scared to do what stops me from my dreams, I’m missing out on achieving. My lack of confidence is destroying me.

They say you should aim for the stars, and don’t aim so low. They seldom talk about the in-between; the pain and understanding to enable you to aim so high.

I’m not taught to fight, I’m not taught to grab anything with both hands, and I’m expected to do it.

I’m expected to.

If you’re not going to help yourself, if you’re not improving, no one will do it for you and you will find something in-between.

It might not be what you want.

Because You’re Pretty

What do you do, where do you go when all hope is lost?

When you feel cold; feel a part of you die, do you stop?

When you’re running out of time and you’re growing old, do you feel like you have left your life behind? Are you telling me why?

No, this is not goodbye, I’m telling you why, it’s not too late.

I’m not wasting my time defending your misery, don’t tell me. When you need me to remind you hope is not gone when you have misplaced it.

When you find hope, you won’t wait for me and I will say goodbye. I wasn’t wasting my time holding your hands when I told you, you’re pretty.

Will you come back for me and take me? When your misery is gone and when you have found the place you belong, will you show me?

I’ll wait for you, even if I run out of time; I don’t even question why, with your hope filled words … because you’re pretty.

You Can Lie and Say That You Care

So I would rather sleep
Rather than being awake
Should I care should I not care at all
I rather not ask if asking is what I need

So I feel how this should be
Thinking about guessing how I should
Want to be or need or needing to be … loved
You can lie and say that you care

But I would rather sleep so I don’t feel
How can’t I feel when I’m in so deep
So when you go I may want you dead
Because I would rather feel
That no one else can have you

So I would rather sleep
And dream of a world
Where you are
So I would care
And feel like you still care
About me

Sometimes I feel
That nothing has changed
And you can tell me
What part of me you need

Everyday Pill (New Year Special: 2014)

It’s quite eye opening when you realise how fast time goes whether you’re working, keeping yourself busy or waiting for the weekend. In one aspect, the weekend seems so far away, but when it arrives, I feel as if time has jumped the queue.

Where has all the time literally gone? I know how I spent it, I can create a time map and it all makes sense, but it doesn’t feel meaningful. It seems as much as time likes to run with the wind caressing its hair, in life, it can stand still.

After a good conversation with the important people in your life, after listening to a great song, attending a function or playing a great video game, you’re left with an experience.

So I measure the happiness that these ‘experiences’ provide to me. My measurement relies on my memory, which is x amount of years on this Earth being my sample size. I can recall the experiences, one by one, but it’s a shadow of its former self. The feeling is as saturated as the memory.

Like medicine, does time need an everyday pill to provide the level of fulfilment? My experience and happiness is formed by that moment which is now overshadowed by its expiry. Quite empty in the present time.

The further time runs along the time map, the further the meaning depreciates. Our species have a biological drive for producing, and by understanding what this means, explains our experience and this fading feeling.

Can you enjoy a movie, a conversation, dinner or travel on your own? You can, but are you forming an experience which caters to our species biological role for happiness?

It’s not as complex AS it sounds. Just the way it is and the level of difficulty.

Solitude isn’t a final form, it’s neither here or there. Your experiences intemperately rely on companionship, your relationships, marriages, families, boyfriends, girlfriends and close friendships. Some relationships are complimentary, others are indispensable that make your heart beat.

Whether it’s creating a purpose or catering to our biological needs, our livelihood requires lasting, ongoing experiences and happiness.

As fast as time is going, if our withering memory isn’t reminded why we’re really here, it’s as if time is standing still … and then, we die.

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