notes: i truly think the loneliest moment in life is staring at the sunrise. alone and awake. knowing you should have slept through the night, but feeling like tomorrow won't be different. music suggestion, sorrow by sleeping at last.
I never had anyone to wake up with.
It sounds silly and, it is probably, but i always rubbed my eyes alone.
Lifted my blanket off my legs and stretched alone.
It gets boring quickly.
Maybe that's why i started staying up til the sunrise.
The colours look so pretty, and it feels like the day greets me.
It feels like i am welcomed, and everything will be alright.
I don't feel so alone then, just for a second.
After that comes the hurt of not being able to share this moment and feeling with someone.
I am sad and the blues at the top of the sky make it worse.
And as i go down i see it withering away to white, just before mixing with yellow, and it reminds me of sorrow.
The taste of it very sour, like homemade lemonade i used to make in middle school.
And then it turns into orange, the deeper i go the deeper i feel.
I talked to my therapist the other day and she says depression can make you see the world through the lens of sadness and hopelessness.
I guess she is kinda right about that.
Even the moments that were once so precious to me, that used to bring me comfort, now hurts more than i could have expected.
Everything feels too complicated, i just wish growing up wasn't this difficult.
Because i don't want to see the world through my eyes anymore, it's all so tiring.
And i am sorry but i did kind of lie about getting up and stretching, because even that feels like a chore now.
I used to be so scared of my mom finding my cousin and i staying up and trying to make the best of our limited time together.
Talking about anything and everything in between, doing the silliest things i couldn't imagine doing with someone else.
And i remember us seeing the moon disappearing and the sun going up, laughing it off and eventually going to sleep.
The warmth of the sun on our tired faces and the colours of the sky hugging us like we were newborns.
Maybe that's why i stay up now, i just want to feel that way again.
I was always too nostalgic for my own good, caught up in the past and begging the time to let me stay there.
Alas the days go by, i can't differentiate them anymore but i just know it has been a week or so since i have been staying in my room and lying in my bed all day.
It feels weird being unnecessary.
Like i said the days go by, nothing or no one needs me, i don't need me.
Well... i guess i do look through that lens towards the world.
The worst part is i do know how to fix things but i can't do them.
Or maybe i don't know, maybe i am trying to make myself believe i am still of use to myself.
I guess by the time the sunset is here and all the colours are back, i will still be in my bed.
It makes me stop though, makes me stop and look outside for a moment and feel the day ending.
It's always about the endings with me, huh?
I think i am scared of endings, that's why i try to normalize them in my head so much.
Even beyond that, add some meaning to it so i can think that i still mean something.
Like how when the day ends, the night starts and even in the dark somethings stay alive.
I am afraid, i have always been.
Just hoping and holding onto the precious memory of someone wanting my hand.
I am scared of endings, i am scared of being forgotten and not being needed.
I am scared i will become needy and only seek out people that will help me, hear me out.
I am sorry i am just rambling, i know you have some stuff going on as well.
Tell me about it please, i promise i will try to not think about it for a while.
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notes: love and obsession have a thin line between them, and most times i feel we confuse them. who knows? maybe they are the same. i guess the way they are both extreme, creates great stories to tell. for the music suggestion, beautiful crime by tamer.
barefoot on the grass listen to me singing
oh thereās the mighty sun and here is the mighty lover;
itās almost like they are the same.
for i never once saw your face dear, these are just feelings i canāt conceive.
i ought to hide them and never speak.
if i do, i am worried that danger will be the both of us.
since the only thing i know is you.
why donāt you ever stay and why does the winter come?
iāll paint a thousand paintings, iāll write a thousand stories
for you are the light i can never feel close enough to.
and when they say i have gone mad, donāt fret.
since my love could never be a threat, for you.
i suppose i am undeserving and devoid of the things someone might need.
but you arenāt just someone, are you?
for no one could ever be as bright, as warm and as unyielding.
no one could be you.
i thought about it the other day, how the oranges taste.
their pieces as sweet as the apples on the burning trees.
and i thought, my lover has done the same.
i walk in flames of agony and anticipation, the only sounds I make are the ones people only whisper about.
so i shall make them sing,
oh there is the mighty sun and there is the mighty lover;
itās almost like they are the same.
notes: life goes by fast, and the older you get the faster it becomes. haven't been keeping track of things that used to matter before, and the things that seemed useless are the backbone of living. something happens at a certain time that just stops your way of life and somehow you are stuck at that age you don't wanna be in. for the music suggestion, veer by fins ara.
i'll watch your breaths,
count them as i did
over and over,
until i feel at peace.
the story could be at its end
but i am still turning the pages
slowly and slowly,
until it's something else entirely.
don't you let go of me now
i still haven't been around enough.
i want to be there when the daisies bloom
and your garden is full of flowers.
tell me the time has been passing
because i haven't moved a bit,
i still see the same places
through my twelve years old eyes.
it's something bittersweet and funny
the taste is on my tongue.
it burns with vigor and hate,
i wonder when it changed
and i started missing it.
i'll make you, your favourite dessert,
"I'll love you"s in every bite.
i hope you can taste it now.
it was something different back then.
-and I'll hold your hand,
painful to recognize the patterns
because we will never be the same
and we haven't even changed.
rose petals fall down the aisle
it's another summer, coming down with the fever.
you hate seeing people happy
and i hate seeing people that remind you of me.
did it need to be so simple that it complicates it?
i'll hold your eyes if you hold mine.
-but don't promise yourself anything.
i was once a little girl,
now i seem all grown up.
-and your new lover's arm on your shoulder,
sneaking glances through the people.
you have just met them
but something tells you it'll be for evermore.
i still stand still on my tiptoes
watching everyone else grow up.
it's all a lie if you want it to be, but i haven't figured it out yet.
i wear suits to feel serious, i fidget with my hands on the way.
my face is bare without makeup, i don't feel superior, just insecure.
and i smile but hide my teeth when i laugh.
i don't know who taught me all this stuff but now i miss being home.
i regret ever coming here.
i wish i knew what was happening
and i didn't need help to figure stuff.
-but i still see the same places, all at once,
through my twelve years old eyes.
nothing will ever be the same
and everything hasn't even changed.
notes: opposites attract, or so i have been told. and i think that is because they are the same, they are the same parts broken into two. they complete each other in a way the same lacking parts wouldnāt, and it is fascinating to think about. for music suggestion, tessellate by alt-J.
There is a certain tenderness in knowing that we are different, but the same.
I know that our hearts beat different blood, they beat different sounds but they beat in harmony and in company.
Your hands touch different things, they beckon me over and mine canāt help but get closer.
I wish I knew how your mind worked but youāll never know how mine works and I think thatās beautiful.
There is small surprises in them that keeps things exciting, new beliefs and lovely shapes of dramatic feelings.
And your eyes keep it mysterious, so soothingly haunting.
I donāt know if I should be scared, but my body is betrayal and I let the adrenaline surge through me.
Time and space are funny concepts that make me miss you, your tongue sweeter than the words it speaks.
And my only wish was to gain back that shine I earned from you, a rather impossible wish.
You think I donāt know that but I know, and I feel.
Raw as the morning sun and true as the shadows it creates, my feelings hurt me.
Under my belly and around my chest, under my feet and around my arms.
Your touch lingers and it is scorchingly hot, punishing me for saving your memories.
New faces and new feelings, I searched for them to be screamed back at.
Your glass heartās sound reminding me, there couldnāt be another one.
Different as they come different as they go, never the same.
Remember how I said it was beautiful? Maybe I was looking through rose glasses, making everything much more believable.
Footsteps carry me home, a chorus of whistles, pushing me towards a scarily familiar place.
Different than the mirror I looked at, it shows me a new place, a new glass to be filled with new things and to be emptied in an interesting way.
Will you tell me what is it?
I donāt know what it is, I donāt think I will ever know what it is and I wish it was beautiful.
Drinks canāt help, they never did.
Time and space are saddening concepts that make me miss us, a place where everything felt safe.
I knitted soft sweaters and gifted them to you, wrapped in some truths I couldnāt say out loud.
Would you have believed me?
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notes: feelings are so hard to understand, aren't they? they confuse us and sometimes that's what we need. sometimes we become blind to the truth because "how could it be?" we think this is for the best and what if it isn't? what could you possibly do? how can you scream when you know no one will hear you? for music suggestion, dying is a beautiful thing to do by EASHA.
and there is this one boy that i really like-
he is handsome and all smiles,
unforgettable eyes looking right at mine-
oh how beautiful it is to be in love!
and he tells me everyday how much joy it brings to him,
he tells his mother of our growing affection
he tells her to buy me nice stuff so he can show his appreciation
he canāt give his heart, i beg him not to because i know he craves for it to happen.
he shows me his appreciation.
he shows it to me when we are sitting on a bench in the park,
with one of his arms around my shoulders and one of his hands on my phone
going through my instagram feed, lifting his eyebrow at the ones he thinks that arenāt good for me
so he shows me that he cares and makes me unfollow.
he cares so much about every little thing because he wants me to be the happiest i can be.
he shows me his appreciation.
itās eight am and i am attending both my classes and his,
his headaches are getting worse and i know that i should be here for him.
it makes me exhausted but thatās okay because i am showing that i care.
if i miss one of it, he reminds me because he knows that i want to show him my appreciation
he promises me kisses and hugs, all i can think is āthis is it, he cares too!ā
he shows me his appreciation.
i talk with my friends, message them a lot because i love them
they love me as well, always there if i need some attention, a text away
and they let me speak as if they can feel my hurt through the screens we look at
they joke around a lot and make me happy, maybe the reason why no one sees my tears
and i talk to them about him in need of advice and reassurance that my sanity is still here
they tell me itās serious, is it that serious? he needs me, i remind them.
āyes, he needs you. for his own responsibilities and egoā¦ā
he shows me his appreciation.
my mind is full of regretful thoughts, he cares, doesnāt he?
when he asks me about where i have been, itās to ensure my safety, right?
when he starts to get angry about my exes, itās because he wants me, right?
when he remind me about how he cries to his mother, itās because he wants to stay, right?
doesnāt it make any sense to them? donāt they see that he thinks in a different way but still loves me?
no. they donāt. they canāt see it.
how could they know about it if they never felt his hands around mine and the way he smiles through his laughs because he finds my answers so funny?
āwe are for each other, we donāt need anyone elseā he says it all the time.
he shows me his appreciation.
and there is this boy that i really like-
he is handsome and all growls,
unforgettable eyes looking right through mine-
oh how tiring it is to be in love!
and he tells me everyday how much joy it brings to him,
he tells his mother of his growing affection
he tells her to buy me nice stuff so he can show his smile
he canāt give his heart, i beg him not to because i know how much my back already hurts from carrying his other stuff.
he shows me his appreciation.
i love him so much and he makes me so happy, there isnāt anything like ours.
he showers me with his kisses and hugs, careful to not touch my bruises and hurt me more.
and my friends all vanished away in the blink of an eye, couldnāt they even say goodbye?
notes: this one was a little sweet thing i wanted to write. a sentence in here stuck with me and i tried to write something to go along with it. it is actually a very deceiving title, as it is not that sweet but poetry and irony, you know?Ā for music suggestion, you can only go in pieces by shua.
Turn this suffering into something sweet, could be soft beneath the hands that take it.
Make me regret my words, one stone to two birds, your hands full with satisfaction and grief.
Stars dance under my eyes, the moon painted with red just like my tries.
The hand that I write this with isnāt innocent of crimes that bear heartbreak...
Drip off me like honey, never grow old just as you pleased.
Taste me on your lunch break, make me a dream as you take and take and take.
You ran off leaving me alone. I had no one, no home to go.
Believe me, I never wanted to end, like the movies it was all pretend.
Under your bed, the sweatshirt I wear, hold onto it every day.
Feels wrong but itās true. Iāll never know the way I loved you.
Iāll never get to see my dreams bloom into something more. Iāll never dance in the kitchen with a lover on my arm. Will never taste your pleasure, your tears or your smiles. Will never get to have your surprises, your plans, your love.
No one knows how it works, it takes. I left before I could get to that place.
Now with my best dress on, I sit alone, watch you over, watch you grow old.
notes: everyone is always trying to be put together; sometimes to impress others, sometimes itās because thatās the only way of living we learned to be accepted. there is nothing wrong with that, of course, but to breathe for a moment in the fresh air of letting go of the holds on us is truly amazing. at the end of the day, all of our broken parts make us the different and interesting stories we are. for the music suggestion, love in the time of socialism by yellow house.Ā
They hold me like I am glass, one fall away from breaking.Ā
Turning into pieces that can paint you red, or become stuck not to be found again.
And no matter how much you try to return it to its original state, it stays as it is.
Broken.
So they burn me, on top of fires that are hotter than anything I have ever felt.
To become something once again, destruction must start.
And isnāt it mesmerising how my form turns into something similar to water?
Deceptive.Ā
Now they shape me to be different and beautiful, believing that I can be.
See through outsides fancy with golden corners, sparkly illusions.
And i need to be worth it, someone needs to take me or it was all for nothing.
Expecting.
Dust collects on my once shiny surface and exhaustion takes over.
Something that was once a body now awaits the end, betraying its temporary purpose.
And itās all heartbreaking to watch, all the potential lost to be passed onto the next ones.
Wasteful.
My nightmares havenāt become my reality yet, for once my hesitant nature is helping.Ā
Theorising is just another way for someone to lose their minds, constant thoughts bleeding into it.Ā
And if my overstepping became too much, if the fall happened, wouldnāt it be just like that?Ā
Believable enough.Ā
The universe is calling to me through a foggy weather, thunder and lightning.Ā
The light scares everyone and makes them wait for the sound, counting the seconds, the danger.
And my hand reaches out, living on the edge to take it, not caring enough.Ā
Cruel.
Could the history become the beauty, the meaning making it unavoidable to look at?
All the rusted armour put on a shelf in a museum, the significant importance.Ā
And after all, isnāt the philosophy behind kintsukuroi what makes it so touching?Ā
Distinctive.
Your cuts and your edges, the harmony of the mess, the hurt transforming.Ā
You mean something and you should be sure of it, believe it.
And the world will not be accepting but your battle scars are the reason I love you.Ā
Gracious.
