Mirages and ink bottles.

I am a pen. This might sound like a metaphorical exaggeration, or an ornamented fact, but it is what I am. Every time I hear the same song that you loved on the radio, it’s like a cut on the side of my arm, and the ink just flows out. Every nick and cut that I get onto my calloused skin, just turns into a bruise that I wear as battle scars and gripping stories. Every time I look at the sunlight through the tinted windows of my car, I cannot help but associate the golden hue to the hazel of your eyes. Every time I look at the vast emptiness that expands beyond the final steps of a cliff, I cannot help but imagine the jagged rocks hidden in snow to be my best friends crooked front teeth, or the jump to the bottom to hide stories of wonderland. You never know what’s hiding just beyond the point your eyes cannot see.

I don’t consider myself a writer, or the pen as a fancy extension of my arm. I don’t believe in using words to heal my pain, or writing as an escape from this cruel world. I don’t make routines and set time periods for the words to find a way out, and I don’t plan on keeping them inside of me where the dark waves can hit the sun drenched sand and wipe them away. I am not a lonely or broken man wandering on hot sidewalks among a cluster of thoughts and people, wondering why you left me, or why no one talks to me the way you did.

When I see the wailing child staring at the ice cream vendor as if that’s all he ever wanted, I cannot help but smile and think about the wishes I’ve had as a child and even as an adult. And when all of this stays in my mind, my brain becomes a volcanic land with words as molten ink, erupting onto snow sheets, paper lines, and electric screens. I don’t wait for the right moment or for the memorable one. I just find things beautiful, and I let you know. When an injured boy cries on the television and countries blow up, or a young girl is found dead on the streets, or you’re just the happiest you could ever be, you’ll bleed blue too. We all will. There’s nothing hiding beyond the point your eyes cannot see, except mirages and an ink bottle.


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This damn world.

This world,
It is filled with
Desperate tongues and restless emotions,
Pretty dandelions and harsh sunlight.
It is made of
Prying eyes and numbing sentiments,
Love roses and dirty soil.
It dances to the beats of
Missiles and declarations of war,
Screams of innocents and catchy tunes.
It gets excited when
A trend takes over,
A new joke is made,
They read deep quotes they don’t understand,
Or just listen to what Trump said.
In this world, where will the humans live?

This world,
It is filled with
Praising mouths and soft hearts,
Different languages yet a steady connection.
It is made of
Heart beats and homes,
Beautiful mountains and enormous waves.
It dances to the beats of
Cheerful giggles and loud exclamations,
Sweet voices and melodious music.
It gets excited when
Passports are painted,
Tickets are bought,
They try new food,
Or over five tequila shots.
In this world, where will the demons hide?


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Related post : Earth.

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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.


Previous post : 11:11s.
Related post : Half.

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11:11s.

There are some things that bother me every night after 2 AM, after I listen to music with lyrics that do nothing except reminding me that you’ll never be mine.

It bothers me that I’ll never love someone this way ever again. Love changes everyday, and it bothers me that you’ll never be my constant. Someday, I might love someone else a little more than I love you, but I really don’t want to. I don’t want to fall in love with a brighter smile or a less scarred hands. Why would I when I can read your stories on your wrists in beautiful ink? Why would I when I can feel this strongly for someone so beautiful?

It bothers me that my wish of you being my first kiss will remain a wish. The world is not a wish granting factory after all.

It bothers me that I’ll never be someone you text when your hands fumble and your lips tremble and your sight blurs. It bothers me that I’ll never enter your mind when you want someone to talk to. I know I don’t deserve it, but when has that ever stopped anyone? When has worth ever weighed more than love?

It bothers me that every time you ask me something, I don’t know what to say.
When you wonder if you’re my muse, should I say that I write about you all the time, should I tell you that you’re my broken promises, 11:11s, the reason I believe in love, and my muse or just say that I write about you sometimes?

It bothers me that my always will never be your someday.


Previous post : Broken.
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To my life-savers.

Dear F.R.I.E.N.D.S,

It’s been a long time, almost 14 years now. How have you managed to shape the lives of not just yourself, but millions others so wonderfully? I don’t know how many times someone has said this to all six of you, and yet I’ll say this one more time : Thank you for everything.

Monica : Welcome to the real world! It sucks. You’re gonna love it!
Your love life was a mess. Ethan, seriously? But you held on, and gave every other guy a chance to be your prince charming. You’ve had your heart broken oh so many times, and you’ve come out smiling every time. Life has thrown so many lemons at you, but you, being the amazing chef that you are, have always made the tastiest lemonades. You’ve made being organized fun for all of us. Although once in a while, I do leave glasses without coasters on the table. I am sorry?

Rachel : Isn’t that just kick-you-in-the-crotch, spit-on-your-neck fantastic?
While we were all waiting for the knock on the door, you chose the window and just completely changed your life. Dreams were your forte. I don’t know how many people thought you were crazy to do something that you love, but I do know you’ve made following dreams easier for us. You’ve shown us what we need to know the most, that it will not be easy, and that we will make it. You’ve shown us that you’d choose your lobster over the fashion capital, and what could be more important?

Phoebe : They don’t know that we know they know we know.
It really is okay to be weird, huh. Your songs alone are life changing, no wonder the kids loved you. From living on the streets, to having one of the prettiest weddings, it has been amazing, hasn’t it? Who would’ve guessed you didn’t even have a pla? You have been the craziest undercover there has ever been, Regina. To be as honest as you, it takes much more than just balls. And to be a believer, it takes just a little faith. And that’s what you’ve given us. Balls, faith, and the confidence to be real.

Chandler : What must it be like not to be crippled by fear and self-loathing?
Time and time again, you’ve brought out the scared side of me out into this world, and made him laugh so hard, he almost choked to death. You would be the king of Facebook and Twitter, had you not shifted to the suburbs, and disappeared. You’ve had a crappy childhood, two mothers and a defense mechanism, and you’ve used these to enjoy all of life (except some festivals) to the fullest. You’ve found your soulmate in a friend, and you have found a brother in your roommate. Could it BE any better?

Joey : How you doin?
I don’t share food, either. And I love girls on bread. That’s the best kind of sandwich, right? You weren’t the dumb one. You were the best bud. Friendship has always been a priority for you, and you’ve given us goals. You’ve told us that being an out-of-work actor is much better than being something that you don’t love. You’ve told us that it’s okay to eat everything in the fridge because it broke down. You’ve told us it is okay to be a kid in this world. What haven’t you done for a friend? I wish there were more people like you, Tribbiani.

Ross : I don’t want to get over her. I want to be with her.
I relate to you most of all. Love hasn’t really been easy for you. You tried once, and your wife became a lesbian. Tried again, but said the wrong name. And then again, when you were drunk. Three failed marriages, and you’re still the reason why people believe they will find their lobster. You loved dinosaurs, and so you followed your passion. Every time you spoke about the Jurassic period, I promise I did not fall asleep. You see, I fell in love in ninth grade too, and I couldn’t do anything about it. Let’s hope for the best?

Thank you. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I’ve found it now, all because of the six of you. The three years I have been away from what I felt was my home, would be unbearable, but you were there. Life isn’t all good, or all bad. It’s the right proportion of both. But yes, Monica. I do love it.

Yours,

Just another fan.


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