I have disappeared like a drop of vinegar in ocean of honey .
My smiled has reappeared, submerged in a garden of crimson red roses .
Thorns are drenched, and stems are thick, like the love of virgin Mary’s newborn.
My leg crossed, and I will wait till dusk, for you to return home, our lips and lust.
Do not forget the water that will wash off dirt, yesterday’s ugly and tomorrow’s hurt.
Now rest your head and close your eyes, allow your dreams to sink in beautiful lies.
I don’t want to be
The name in your blocked list , and neither do I want to be a forgotten contact.
I don’t want to be a phase in your life, or your flavor of the month. I don’t want to be forgotten smudge of a handprint on your window pane.
I want to be
Dried lavenders you keep between the page of an old romatic classic, and I want to be the beautiful handwritten letters that you keep under your pillow, holding them close to your heart at night. I want to be the pearls from a broken necklace you’ve been treasuring for age, your wristwatch that you always wear on your right hand.
I want to be
Sweatshirt that carries your fragrance and be an old blanket that keep you warm on a cold winter night. I want to be reason behind your smiles, and I want to be your muse, be someone who you think about on your lonely night.
I want to be the girl in your story, which you will very fondly tell your children before their bedtime, under the starry night sky, a light smile playing on your lips while doing so.
(Artwork By unknow)
Before I knew what love was, I thought it was easy like when you love, you expect to be loved back. When you give, you expect to receive something back.
When you’re hurt love can easily comfort you. I thought love was my medicine when I was hurting deeply. I thought love was my ally when the world pounded me and bombarded me with painful wounds.
I was wrong, love was my test.
Love was my enemy, love was the measurement of how I really want to spend my life with somebody. Love was never my redemption, love was there even to the point of my execution. Love stood under my umbrella. Love held me when I was drowning in my insanity.
Love stood beside me when the heavy eyes of the world judged me. Love built a roof when problems rained on me. Love taught me to dance in the rain. And when I was able to stand up and be strong again, love fulfilled his duty and then left me.
I know loneliness.
I know the smell of absence and the sound of laughter from the other side of the wall. The way you speak to yourself just to fill the lack of someone else. Anyone else. Anything else.
I know loneliness.
I sit at this coffee shop this morning watching the world. I actually like sitting at coffee shops by myself. The things you notice when you’re on your own, without anyone distracting you from the simple pleasure of noticing things. Like how the old man sitting across from me has been trying to scratch something that shouldn’t really be scratched in public – okay, that I file under things I wish I could un-notice. Like how the lady on the other side of the room just rather nervously re-touched her lipstick for what must have been the fifth time. She’s wearing what I’d consider a way too expensive piece of clothing. I scan the room and realize she’s alone, just like me, and it hits me that we’re not so different, that woman and I. I wonder what had happened that made noticing much less exciting to her, and now she’s seeking comfort in crimson lipstick and expensive dresses. I sit calmly in the corner with my coffee, cluttering my notebook with sketches and words while watching these people, before I make my way back to my hotel room to sleep and lose myself in another world, another dream, with no one beside me to draw me back to reality.
I like the way I notice things and how I wouldn’t notice them if someone kept filling my mind with familiar conversations because I seek the unfamiliar. How small, ordinary routines can turn into beautiful memories. Like the way I spend every morning writing undistracted for an hour, just like how I’ve done in the last couple of years, but how a simple habit becomes something new and exciting just because you’re in a new place with unfamiliar people to watch and observe. In a coffee shop with strange cups and a new smell of their brew, and how I can simply sit in one place for hours and just be astonished, all my senses awake and sharp, and I smile even though I don’t realize, and some young man smiles back at me probably thinking the smile is for him but it’s really just because I’m simply content with my own state of excitement. Excitement for all these seemingly familiar routines, but for me, it’s all new. And how the simple habit of writing every night until I fall asleep becomes my safety, because that’s what I know, that’s what I do. But it’s still unfamiliar as entering a new land every single night because these poems, these letters, these memories transport me to different worlds where all things are possible.
And you ask why I enjoy my loneliness? Because loneliness doesn’t have to be empty if you learn to see the possibilities it brings. I have learned to look at loneliness as not an empty space but more like a blank canvass. A blank page free for you to fill. With stories, possibilities, excitement. Or the simple stillness of watching the sun rise over the horizon in silence each new morning. No one is telling me about familiar things. The world is, after all, only our perception of it.
So I’m not afraid of loneliness. It is my friend and faithful companion. And because it is teaching me.
(Picture by unknown )
2K followers, I can’t believe it.
Never have I dream to reach this far,
Someone tell me, am I dreaming?
It seems was like it was only yesterday
I wished open stars . . .
These blog meant the world to me,
I am so glad you took the time to read it.
Just by saying you love it make me so happy
It feels like i can finally breathe.
You are gift from wishing stars
A Miracle that’s come out of the blue
You are the reasons I got this far
So from the bottom of my heart,
THANK YOU .
FAQ: Why do you write?
Because writing is my first aid kit.
Because writing can be my injury at the same time, and that there are wounds that no human hands can reach. Because I can’t answer the Doctor if he asks me how it hurts, at least, not in a needed medical way. Only metaphors, only excuses. Because words cut deeper than the scalpel. Because there are ups and there are downs; because no one told me how little remains of us
after the fall. Because love. Because lies. I write because this is a place of pure honesty; because the paper holds the truth that my lips could not. Because here I can put a title. Because we never had a title. Because there is a period that indicates an end;
because we didn’t had that kind of stopping signal. Because we squeeze into our jeans and we squeeze ourselves into people who have no intention of keeping us and we still wonder why there is such thing as pain. Because I wish my grandfather lived longer, because there are people who refuse to live. Because there is no cure for missing. Because there are people you can miss even if they are breathing right next to you.
Because there are questions not asked; because there are unaccepted answers. Because there are people I can no longer call. Because there are words I will never hear. Because we all have boxes inside our hearts— filled with memories, filled with regrets. Because you hurt me. Because I hurt you. Because I never stopped writing about you. Because you stopped reading my words. Because I wanted leaving to look beautiful, to make it less agonizing. Because the truth is it wasn’t beautiful, it was just simply letting you go , and I just stand silent with heavy eyes and ticking heart bomb trying not to shatter into million little pieces that could still love you in the next million years. Because it’s difficult to forget. Because memories are ordinary. Because memories are extraordinary. Because. Because. Because with you, I was me. Because this. Because words. Because there is you
I will never see
Dreams take flight
Deep into the night,
Tired eyes , Get filled with life ,
Broken hearts , Start to shine like stars
And sealed up lips start to smile ,
This is what Hope look like .