The tear inducing fear
In a way
I can not talk
For the anxiety
Chokes out the sound of my voice
Demand I do so
(I am an
With a broken safety valve)
If I don’t
All the unsaid
Will crush me
The words will become
Because I love
Myself to you
In a way that is perhaps
If at times to honest
The thing that upsets me more than anything, in this bloody world, it’s its utter lack of magic. Not the kind that allows you to draw a bunny from a hat, I mean, proper magic.
It’s all been said and done before, nothing is still uncovered, no new lands on the horizons, nothing that could make you stare with wide open eyes, like a child who’s still able to be amazed at the world.
Magic isn’t real, the magician is just clever enough to trick us all, but maybe, in the deep corners of the thoroughly discovered and explored world we live in, there’s still something worth discovering.
And maybe chaos plays a greater role than we think. We are rarely amazed, but we can still discover how to be genuinely surprised. By anything, really, anything that chaos throws on our way.
At some point, you start calling it luck, because if chaos and fate decide to be gentle with you and your desperate need to be amazed, you start thinking you’re being kissed by luck itself.
And trouble is, that feeling, that amazing feeling of being genuinely surprised, to be caught completely unprepared is always something you really want to hold on to. Whatever the price, whatever the consequences.
Insomnia is usually one of the prices you pay, when your day-life is just an endless stretch of days too similar to one another to even care, crammed with things to do, principles to uphold, work to do.
But by night, my friend, that’s when everything doesn’t matter anymore. By night, chain smoking like your life depended on that, pushing the headphones even closer to your ears, because no-one has the right of stealing your music from you…you look for the moments when you truly were speechless, moved, and amazed.
And it’s a blissfully painful thing to do. You start thinking at all the things that seemed to happen by chance, and you secretly start to hope again it wasn’t all by chance. It wasn’t all unimportant. In trivial details we thrive, and only because it’s the last bit of amazement we can still afford.
And, most importantly, in trivial details one can truly find oneself. Because knowing that, even for a second, even for an hour, the song which now is just a faint memory of better days was actually the most important thing in the entire universe.
Because, for one hour, for one minute, in all your silence and gloomy days, it was about the us we never had. Or kind of have. But , I know, or at least, I hope (and is there really a difference at all, at 4 in the morning?) it was not entirely chaos’s fault if that song was always with us. Was it a way of sending out your message? I guess I’ll never know.
Which is why, you bloody stubborn devil with a smile I’d sincerely die for, I’m not asking you anything. I can’t trust my intuition, and I am fairly persuaded that nothing much can amaze me these days any more.
Trouble is, you were the only one who could amaze me. By simply existing. By simply laughing, singing your heart out in the deep of the night, by showing me that the world wouldn’t collapse on itself if I just ran away for it, three or four nights at the time.
I hide it well, there’s no point in denying that. Which is the reason why I can be shamelessly honest here, in a language you don’t know enough to understand a word I am writing, in the deep of the night, when all I can do is remember what it was like to see everything in bright colours again.
All of this, under the day light, doesn’t exist. During the day, I’ll be back with a vague idea of calling you, and I won’t, time and time again.
Because I wouldn’t know what to say, because I have moved on, because, quite simply, the only thing that could still make sense would be just asking you
why are you so far away
Why won’t you ever know that I’m in love with you.
and I know you’ll recognize it in a bat of an eye. And that may even be enough, for me.
I miss you.
The silence between us
speak so loud. It screams
through the darkness
of my mind. To remind me
that nothing, lasts forever.
The promises never stay
longer than a day.
I am walking alone,
I am walking home.
The silence between us
embraces me as the
lover, because you
could (would) not. It speaks
to me all the words
that echo through
the dreams of my heart
that has been torn apart
so many times, I am not
really sure, where the
pieces lie. Awake at night
my eyes shining
in this darkness
waiting… in the deep
to hear my phantom
sing me back to sleep.
Poetry doesn’t always have to be written on a crumpled piece of paper in pen that’s running out of ink. Your smile is poetry, the blue sky, the stars at night, the sound of your happiness…poetry. All of it.
Poetry doesn’t always rhyme because life isn’t always fair and the days aren’t always short and the nights aren’t always easy. Things don’t always work out, they won’t always be okay.
Poetry isn’t always pretty. Sometimes it’s better to have your heart ripped out of your chest so you can watch it bleed and understand your life. But it is always beautiful…always pure…always perfect.
|—||Maya Angelou (via quotes-of-humanity)|
Humans and Animals
coolest photo set i’ve ever seen.
You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I hope you find all the happiness you deserve. Because you deserve it. You deserve all the love in the world. No one will love you as much as I do but they can come close. You deserve the world. And if you ever get lonely I’m here. I will always be here for you. Always right here waiting for you. And I will wait for you forever. I never want to see a day without you. I wouldn’t survive without you in my life. I love you so much, and maybe that’s why this is tearing me apart. Not being able to see you will kill me. But as long as you’re safe and happy and you’re still at least my best friend ill be okay. Ill make it through. There is so much I need to say to you. And so much I want to say.but . I love you. So much more than you’ll ever know and ever understand. But I do love you. And you are the most important thing to me. I hope you find happiness. And I hope sometimes you think about me because I promise you will never leave my mind. Always and forever right? I will love you always and forever. “Without you ill be miserable at best”.
What is love?
Sometimes you don’t know the answer.
Sometimes your heart won’t allow
you to experience the possibilites.
Sometimes love is a gentle kiss on the cheek,
a hug that you havent had in forever
from that one and only person who makes your heart skip a beat.
Sometimes love is something
that you dream of;
Something you wish to appear,
but it never seems to…not really.
Sometimes love is realizing
that the other’s needs
are more important than your own…
and love is a compromise.
But if you’re like me…
You find Love (in) everything.
last night’s dream,
The time’s “wait” …
until you find yourself
the one you love.
If you look closely enough
you’ll find love is
exactly where you put it…
And if you’re like me…
love is… (in) EVERYTHING.
The worst thing you do when you think is lie — you can make up reasons that are not true for the things that you did, and what you’re trying to do as a creative person is surprise yourself — find out who you really are, and try not to lie, try to tell the truth all the time. And the only way to do this is by being very active and very emotional, and get it out of yourself — making things that you hate and things that you love, you write about these then, intensely. When it’s over, then you can think about it; then you can look, it works or it doesn’t work, something is missing here. And, if something is missing, then you go back and reemotionalize that part, so it’s all of a piece.
But thinking is to be a corrective in our life — it’s not supposed to be a center of our life. Living is supposed to be the center of our life, being is supposed to be the center — with correctives around, which hold us like the skin holds our blood and our flesh in. But our skin is not a way of life — the way of living is the blood pumping through our veins, the ability to sense and to feel and to know. And the intellect doesn’t help you very much there — you should get on with the business of living.
n. frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone—spending the first few weeks chatting in their psychological entryway, with each subsequent conversation like entering a different anteroom, each a little closer to the center of the house—wishing instead that you could start there and…