Maybe the saddest lines can’t really be written, and the saddest thoughts can’t really be uttered. And maybe, I miss you, is the closest thing we could have.
Sing me a lullaby,
Of words too deep all I could do is feel,
Sing me songs from the ancient moon,
Of how it loves the sea and its tides,
And all the creatures underneath it.
Sing me the songs of the wolves,
Of their whisperings and howlings,
Of their pain and anguish,
And of how they love the moon so much,
All they could do is yearn,
And hate its moonlight glow.
Or better yet,
Sing me the songs of the winds,
Whispering beyond what you can hear,
And how they carry each wishes, unheard prayers, and unsung love notes,
To the hearts of the right ones
When the time is right.
You asked me one time what do I need. And I almost said it to you right there and then. That what I need most is the power not to break, the power not to break under pressure, under love, under your heated gaze. The power not to break whenever you walk away from me, or whenever you’re near me, or whenever you hurt me with your words and with your stupid actions and inactions. The power to walk away from you and never look back. The power to never fall in your arms again every time you came back.
The power to still this treasonous, treacherous heart of mine.
To say I don’t love you anymore and mean it this time.
//excerpts from a book i’ll never write #30
I find myself lost in between juggling my life, my dreams, and my happiness. And I don’t know what to do. Is this all there is? The things I do that makes me happy are not exactly the things that this world would applaud for, and the things I do to make my life seems worth it are not exactly the the things that makes me happy. And my dreams, I think I have it all wrong. And I think, is this my dream before? Why do I feel stuck now, and why does doing this dream does not make me happy anymore. Is this all there is to it? At what point can I throw the white towels away and say I quit? At what point can I let go? At what point is it enough to let go? Should I even let go when I haven’t even begun? Is that even called letting go when my heart isn’t even into it anymore?
At what point can I stop chasing my dreams and not regret it one day?
I scream to the walls that binds me up,
I claw at its surface until my fingernails snap,
I cover it with blood, my only lifeline,
Then I realize it is me who’s been keeping it up.
So I dig below until I get out,
Out of the walls that keep me out,
Of peoples lives and peoples buzz,
And I see the sunlight for the first time.
I breathe the air that suffocates me before,
It didn’t change apart from how I view things now,
The air that used to kill me, now brings me life,
I’m glad I tear the walls down.
//an old post of mine 😊