Then how come it isn’t?

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The last time I kissed her, I kissed her with a little more passion than our lungs could hold on to. I let my hands pull her in, and my eyes close to make sure I remembered what she was like.
She tasted like a Monday morning I didn’t hate and dirty coffee mugs of the night before. She tasted like grocery shopping where we ended up with just a stick of gum, and the cashier gave our smiles and giggles a weird glance cause clearly we shouldn’t shop at 3 A.M? She tasted of sunrays and tanned skin, and of crazy ways to seduce each other. She tasted like a cold November night on the terrace with my arms around her and her head on my chest and our eyes on the stars. She tasted like broken frames and mended hearts and salty tears and not being able to stay apart.
She reminded me of the time I ran my fingers through her hair, and she ran her fingers through the knots in my souls. She reminded me of the time I kissed her salty skin right after coming out of the sea, and her fingers holding onto my wet hair and pulling me in. She reminded me of sleeping all day and watching Barney all night. She reminded me of soft chuckles, and loud moans.
She was my ‘Irish’ coffee and she was the Rachel to my Ross. She reminded me of moonlight on her knees as I trailed my fingers up. She reminded me of empty bottles and half-eaten snickers. She reminded me of promises that smelled of chocolate cookies and assurances of being in Wonderland if I ever fell again.
She tasted like an eternity and reminded me of the fault in our stars. We could not end up together, but we did have a bigger infinity than we ever imagined we could have. She was the Robin to my Barney and the little forever she gave me was legen – wait for it – dary.
Didn’t you think you’d meet someone, fall in love and that’d be it?


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Related post : Kisses and cravings.

Stay.

Just read it till the end, please! ❤


Hey.
Goodbyes can be such a pain in the ass.
I’m not ready for it.
I cannot believe that
Your intoxicating eyes
Won’t be my morning sun anymore.
Your heavy breath
Won’t to be the first thing
You share with me anymore.
We won’t enjoy long walks,
And windy drives,
Crazy fights and funny sights anymore.

I’m not ready for it.
I cannot let go of you.
Memories won’t suffice.
I remember the time we first met.
You hugged me, and kinda danced too.
The first day we spent together,
Ice cream and chill,
Our favourite thing.
The first time we got wet
As it rained,
And you taught me how much fun it could be.
I’m drunk all the time,
You make me sober.

I am not ready for it.
I need you.
I need to hold your hands
As if they were a part of me.
I need you to brighten my days,
And lonely dark nights.
Eating won’t be fun anymore,
Without you around to steal my food.
Who will be my alarm clock,
The only one I never want to snooze?

I am not ready for it.
I’m drunk all the time,
You make me sober.
You’re not just a pet
Your family.
Don’t die on me.


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A new shade.

Is it just me who’s blind,
Or did the world go blind too?
I don’t know where,
or how to look for the answer,
without my eyes.

The wind can speak,
And the leaves can gossip.
The sun can giggle,
And the clouds can cry.
How has this remained
a secret for so long?
Every breath I take
Now has a papery taste,
Dry and evident.
Every word I speak,
Now sounds like an echo,
That fills the room
With its existence.
Every giggle that I hear,
Tickles my ear,
And makes me feel the joy
That it is made of.
How have I never been
So alive before?
I’ve tripped on the stairs,
That I had jumped over
A thousand times before,
Did it move?
The walls feel a bit too close,
And colors a bit too far.
Darkness has a strange color.
It reminds me of the night,
But also the day.
But mostly, it reminds me of the sky
Infinite.
Darkness is a void,
The other senses can only try to fill.
How is it that we’ve never
seen this shade before?

Is it just me who’s blind,
Or did the world go blind too?
I don’t know where,
or how to look for the answer,
without my eyes.


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Tsunami

I’m as messed up as this poem. This just might not make sense.

Home.
It’s a strange place
You never know where you’ll feel it.
Two arms and music inside a chest
Or four walls and family dinners
Or spin the bottle and hopeless friends
Or maybe just a city.
My mind is a crazy mess
My heart does not rhyme anymore
Everyone has a story
I’m living a story that
I just can’t put into words.
Nostalgia is a dirty liar.
But it’s my happy place.
You see,
When I write about love,
Words flow nonstop.
When I write about pain,
I don’t try to rhyme, it just fucking happens.
But when I write about home,
My poetry is a lost cause.
There’s a tsunami in my head.
A tsunami of words that don’t match,
And there’s no way to put them together.
I’ve been trying and trying to write
About home
About my time there
About my time here
About what I’ve felt in between
But words of no purpose pop into my head
And although they can be made
Into something beautiful
Like everything can
I’m just not the one to do it.
But I so badly want to.
I want to frame sentences,
And beautiful verses,
Phrases that make sense,
Something.
But here I am,
Going on and on
Not having a clue about what I’m writing.
I’m so sorry.
I just miss home.


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A pack of color pencils.

“Humans are fragile creatures made up of broken hearts and broken promises.” – Unknown

The water at the end of the dessert. That is what a promise is made of. It’s not real.

  1. Young Rue thought that Santa would send a present this year too. She had been a good girl. She had been nice to every one, and had done all her work. Every year she waited for a box wrapped in red paper with a small paper that read “As promised.” She had a deal with Santa. She had promised to be a good girl, and in return he had promised to bring her some of her favorite chocolates and new toys. She ran out of her room as soon as she woke up, but found no presents. Had she not been a good girl, or was Santa biased against orphans?
  2. Rue learned about how words could be carved into promises as she grew older. But she believed in people anyway. When he promised to be there for her every time she shattered into pieces, she smiled. She knew he would. But when everything around her crumbled, her life was a mess like the mascara flowing down her cheek, and she was drowning log in the high tide, he vanished like the sun on a winter day. Another empty promise, another broken heart, another normal day.
  3. With time, her words lost their meaning. She stopped believing, and forgot to keep her promises. She handed out assurances and promises like a pack of color pencils that would make your life colorful. But only while it lasted. And then she failed to do what she said, show what she meant, and be what she wanted. The colors ran out, and the pack was empty. A hole in her heart was yearning for someone to remind her what promises really are. Yearning for someone to make her believe.
  4. On a summer morning, she found the person looking at her through a dirty mirror. Brown eyes and dark hair with a new pack of color pencils in her hand.

Empty promises will break you. But you’ll always have at least one person who can love you. Be your own pack of color pencils. Look for the sword.

“She wasn’t waiting for a knight. She was waiting for a sword.” – Atticus


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