Untitled
Uninvited Secrets rise far Beyond the missing Years into the unknown.
Maybe, like an artist.
Uninvited Secrets rise far Beyond the missing Years into the unknown.
Will the rain that falls under the umbrella ever stop?.
It tugs at my heart and it lingers, like a hum after a tune that had long been played..
The sky is everywhere. It begins at your feet....
You are free to choose. But you are not free from the consequence of your choice..
Don't leave me and end up happy..
I'm so sorry about yesterday, mom My two eyes were leaking tears I locked my door and didn't take a step outside What do I do.
It probably hurts to lie to the one you love. But it definitely hurts more to act like the one you love isn't lying..
Endless, ethereal existence dwindle into nothing. Uncreation. It is a slow and painful process. It is not death, for Uncreation isn't death.
Love, like all things, has potential for danger. While it breeds selflessness, it also brings selfishness.
Love and friendship, together, is a double-edged sword..
They lie to themselves so much that, after a while, the lies start to seem like the truth..
It takes nothing to join the crowd. It takes everything to stand alone..
Those who are heartless, once cared too much..
They only last for the moon, and leave when the sun comes back..
Is to give life a meaning..
Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different once they are expressed. A little distorted, a little foolish..
That I'm both your umbrella and the rain..
I'm afraid I'll become a book that no one reads; Music that no one listens to. I'm afraid I'll be abandoned like a movie playing in an empty theater..
Don't grow up. It's a trap..
How beautiful is it to stay silent when someone expects you to be enraged from them. And how beautiful is it to laugh when someone thinks you are going to shed tears..
People have the habit of inventing fictions they will believe wholeheartedly in order to ignore the truth they cannot accept..
Lost somewhere between insanity and reality, relief and horror, elation and sadness, he refuses to believe he is real..
They had only five years on each head, the burden of life but a mystery box slowly undone by time. Names were abstract concepts; offence was uncalculated as was honesty..
What's so simple in the moonlight by the morning never is..
They flicker black white black white like broken clips from a film reel, a fleeting memory of existence, a proof of living for a second – all the telling left to the shadows and mysteries of the...
Instead, shades of nostalgia paint their memories and childhood laughter makes up the missing voices..
Things won't change until you change it..
The once particularly lushed green leaf is admired in the beginning of autumn. Comes winter, and it’s the only leaf attached. Brown and crispy. Admired still.
As far as the facts go, there is no way to measure. And it shouldn’t be measured. Because, no person in his right mind measures the amount of pain he is in. Or knows how to..
Counting down will bring nothing but the future..
So, when his unblinking eyes start to burn, the shining blue falls through the gaps between his fingers. And his palms are empty. He wonders why..
Setting this worn out pen on the tears stained paper. I'm writing such a happy story. But it's still no more than just a wish.
I'm not that forgetful, and I can't go back to believing. Even today, I still don't have the heart to send you away. I'll rewrite our story. And it will not end..
You need to be here for it to be paradise A paradise that has locked you in against your will A sad paradise that you can't leave in your wake A paradise where we can be together forever.
I was so happy. And then I woke up..
One… Two… Three… When does it start. Does it ever stop. The days that come after too late. They will never end. And he is there to count. Though, he knows it doesn’t matter. He counts anyways..
And like how Life doesn’t connect sometimes: it is not a love story. It is also not a happy ending.
Strange wetness crawls down his flushed cheeks, and he knows he isn’t in pain..
And none of the two are sure which of them are suffering. Perhaps both. Perhaps..
It doesn’t begin here. Nor does it begin anywhere. And, it doesn’t end here nor anywhere either. Cliche. It doesn’t end here. It really doesn’t. Really.