One soul.

-
sometimes you set at the roof of your house, or the small window of your room and you look into the horizon you see the blurry line where the sky and the city meet, and for a moment you allow yourself to think, to drift in realms unknown to you yet.
you allow your self to lay off for a few moment, you don't think about anything, or you think about everything all at once, but either ways it's consoling.
something about the silence, this good kind of silence, and the absence of company makes you more oriented and calm for a moment. as if time has stopped and the world is giving you some time to process its magnificence. It's giving you a chance to open your eyes, to see with your heart. To notice and observe as life washes over, and passes by. You realize that life is happening around you, to every single individual, that every stranger has their own complicated life, each one of them has a secret they don't talk about, each and everyone is afraid of something, and everyone of them has been scarred in different way than you.
or maybe that this girl crossing the street got her heart broken the same way your heart was.
and that man buying flowers experienced a devastating loss of a beloved one just like you.
it's all same stories, same plots, just with different names and different faces.

The sun sets lazily yet gracefully, in no hurry.
and this exact moment something wells inside you, filling you with a feeling you can't identify, for once in your life you feel as if you belonged. Like you are really a part of something bigger.
You feel united and connected to this moving picture in front of you.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

mirror

-
My thoughts are not holy, My body isn't a temple It's not a sacred space It's tender flesh and a fragile spine, It's nothing remotely divine, It's belimished skin and visible markings, I know there is solace in metaphors, in similes, in saying things not as they are but as what they're like,  in trying to compare what you can't understand to what you do, Maybe only then it will make sense, Trying to simplify it, pulling threads and tying ends and loosening knots, trying to make it look familiar, But it is almost never accurate, Words are just letters, More times than not they hold little to no significance. Little to no reassurance, little to no validation, Sorry , a half hearted apology Always met with sincere acceptance. 
Read more

The apartment

-
 When I think about my ideal house. I think wide balconies,  I think penthouse,  I think small yet not claustrophobia inducing.  I think roomy but not huge.  I think large but just enough to house two people and a pet, preferably a cat.  I think walls, muted yellow and forest green,  I think walls that you can pin me against and kiss me. I think walls, unlike the ones I keep around my heart, that aren't prone to crumbling at any hint of tenderness. I think walls I can hang up pictures of us. Crappy art I make and posters of your favorite things. I think of walls that have ears but never heard screaming or anger, I think of walls that have never witnessed disappointment.  I think of warm nights and cool breeze and long hugs and affection unaccounted for. 
Read more

The Quest.

-
I know regret when I see it, I spot it easily on your grey blotted aura. It glistens through your bloodshot eyes,  the windows of your soul, one glance is more than enough to recognize it. You have taken it upon yourself to seek redemption, From things you have no control over, but it never hurts to try. The sought after resurrection of what have been long dead will drain you, yet, you carry on, with a broken compass and a useless map, determined to revive what was once alive, reclaim what was once yours, But you can't seem to find it. That missi ng thing. You tell yourself that you've got nothing to lose and maybe Just maybe This time there will be a different outcome. A lie you cradle along with the truth. And when you go back to where you started, You swallow your pride and  disappointment, Like splinters of wood,  But your insides are lined with sandpaper, your spine is made of steel, and none of it longer fazes you.
Read more