The red panda

The warmth of another day and the feeling of things will be allright./ Your own worth of living once again./ Your right to take care of yourself, so that this day you take responsibility of your own self even though you haven't tried your best./ The chance to give yourself permission to feel this very day and its dancing wind beneath your hair./ The life in itself and the wisdom that "joy lies in simple things".

When you ask these questions, I'am left off-guard. I keep on asking my self the same question everyday.

When you say you want to know me. What am i suppose to say?

And truth to be told, i don't have the straight answer to this. Because there are days when i feel so unknown to myself that i have to look at myself in the mirror to contemplate my own existence.

I keep on asking myself the same questions to which i don't really have a straight answer.

When you say you want to know me. What am i suppose to say?

I like my coffee black and cold. Because that warmth feels so distant that my taste is unable to savour the flavour. I like my coffee black and cold, because I'am addicted to its bitterness. It wakes me from a whole another dimension where every sip tells me "wake up"

When you say you want to know me. What am i suppose to say?

I prefer the cold night more than the warm daytime, because when its that time when black heaven hovers above my eyesight. I feel like I'am home. That is when i feel the most whole. The silence fills up my being more than the noise of the day.

When you say you want to know me. What am i suppose to say?

I'd like to walk my journey than running for it. I like to stroll empty roads when everything is actually existing. And when i see that existence my rage of all ages seems to find it's closure. My attention is undivided for those existing butterflies and the dragonflies. Somedays i like to just watch where they fly off to. They make me feel like maybe nothing needs to have meaning, just some random existence. And something tells me "it's okay"

When you say you want to know me. What am i suppose to say?

You will see me laughing so hard at times you will be annoyed with that laughter. And I'am genuinely happy at that time. Not because i was sad prior that time. But because sometimes it's my mind that tells me what are the things wrong with the world and it dissapoints me. Seeing so many sad faces all over my walk, i want to smile. But if you ask me "why am i so happy" i cannot seem to collect my reasons to state why am i so happy, because there are so many.

When you say you want to know me. What am i suppose to say?

I hate myself so much that i end up loving myself at the end. Sometimes i feel like there are two souls living inside of me. One that tells me how pathetic was my actions while i was doing something. The other shows me the light. Oh! dear there is a war inside of me that has been held since the ancients. Iam a chaos and peace at the same time. Iam the drunken and the drink. The lost and the found. The self and the other.

When you say you want to know me. What am i suppose to say?

I like human touch, but would deny everytime I'am offered with one. If you will ask me to hold hands, sure i would but somehow i want to retire my hands just to watch how much you want to hold it. Because i swear dear the hell breaks loose when you won't feel the urge to connect to the human self in me and you.

When you say you want to know me. What am i suppose to say?

I keep looking at the sky for there is just no traffic or chaos. They compliment my world, but at the same time i like looking at the crowd and their chaos. The chaos is also what lives inside of me.

When you say you want to know me. What am i suppose to say?

I like to keep my hair long at the same time i want to cut them all bald. Like a monk who has all the answers. Like a hippie with long lost tales of god knows what journey they are in.

When you say you want to know me. What am i suppose to say?

Iam dramatic at the same time i discard myself from drama. Because some dramas are not enough to make me move myself to be involved.

My dear when you say you want to know me, i have this urge to know you more. I keep thinking if you are like me? Or are you an organised life. With all their plans figured out, because iam no where near close to figuring out mine. Sometimes iam left blank like these walls I'am ogling for past 3 hours. They have spoken to me more than anyone.

Iam a misfit in a journey to nowhere. A sage of nothingness. Because at the end that might be our journey.

But until it grabs you from your soul. Just let us be here and listen to the distant howls of the wolf. The moon is brightest tonight and before the morning rays touch your wiskey shining brown eyes, those copper to honey irish brown crystal magic eyes. Let me kiss you to make up for everything, because you will know me more now.

When you're dramatically sad, so they say you are.

When you can't feel the light passing through your skin and you long for a warm hug, you are sad.

When you can't find anything to do in your room and you lie there with one of your face drowned in your pillow and you notice the junction of your floor and the wall and you tell yourself

"the wall wasn't painted well enough" , you are sad.

When you walk past people knowing that no-one of them are interested in your story because they're not interested in theirs in the first place, you are sad.

When you start a painting and a mid way through you don't seem to find the colours that you wanted, so you mix up other colours to make one for them and now it looks like nothing like you've started, you are sad.

When you walk through the corridor of your home and you see the people present there talking about how life is miserable, you are sad.

When you are in the mid conversation and just as you thought things were getting interesting but you now have heard the story about 10 times, you are sad.

When you are riding your bike and the road seems to pass by in such a way that it makes you thoughtless, you are sad.

When you scroll through your phone looking for ways to entertain yourself and you somehow close your eyes for just 5 seconds realising you've been like this for longer days, you are sad.

When you are in your work and you happen to talk to a colleague and your attention looks past your room and you notice how everyday has been like this, you are sad.

When you sprint through that hospital corridor to rush for the medicine they so badly need and halfway you realise youre tired, you are sad.

When you talk to people about how you feel and you simply can't understand how you feel, you are sad.

When you're at 3am looking at the dark ceiling above you and nothing changes around it, you are sad.

Maybe you are sad.

Dramatically and passionately you hold on to your sorrows like its that one thing that you can't let go of. You are sad.

But only if you realise that you're what every books and poems have talked about all these eons.

What you feel is temporary and they won't last long no matter how hard you try to hold on. They never last.

You're made of tragedy and chaos.

You weren't easily made like a magician taking out a rabbit from his hat.

You weren't created out of a vapour.

Oh! Darling only if you realise how magical and dramatic was your making.

Countless times your each cell died giving birth to who you are right now.

Countless times the seasons have changed just so that you won't feel alone, they change for you.

Countless times have you cried the rivers of tears inside your bottomless void.

Countless times have the universe tried.

To me you are a miracle.

A God sent, heavenly chosen miracle.

And if they say you can't be sad for a while.

Maybe they haven't felt Mozart and his pieces.

They haven't read prettiest that pierced your heart.

They haven't felt the pulse that runs slow in a dying man.

They haven't wept ceaseless at a funeral.

And if you still think that you're dramatic at being sad, maybe you are.

And if you still think being sad is wrong darling I'm afraid they is you.

So when you're dramatically sad, and you want to be like that for a while.

Be like this unapologeticaly.

Because you're you and the sadness you feel they won't last forever.

Someday when you look back from this day onwards on the day when you don't have the energy to lift your body up, when grace has fallen I'm your skin and they have made folds of ferocious bold and authentic beauty you call being old.

You will laugh, and sigh and say "How stupid was I to cry like that "

And laugh away you must.

Because I've heard somewhere

" you've been hurt by it, haven't you " she replied gazing back at him.

" I may have " turns his gaze. Reaching out for the wine.

Gracefully she picks up her glass wine and stirs it carefully. Locking her gaze at the dance of the red liquid. She speaks

" how beautiful it is to know that it's like wine, the more it ages the more valuable it gets with time. Poured in fragile hearts, like this wine glass. Sadly not everyone knows how to drink from it" and gulps the wine from her glass carefully.

why can't people just have literature romance.

Read books together, go on a library date, study together, buy eachother books of romance and poetry. There are millions of books waiting to be read and felt through hearts. Think about it you're educating both yourselves.

"I think she is mad at me"

*sending voice note reciting poems

Dude like handwritten letters are the bomb. 💌

Sending them handwritten letters with expensive ink you bought together the pen you bought together. saving money together for freaking letter papers and accessories. !!

I know not everyone is like this but you can learn together though.

Be educated romantics!! Don't just drive your emotions in it, Grow together !!!!

I mean you're a team together. And teamwork needs activities to grow.

Love is just the start you have a damn life with that person go and have a literature romance once a while 💌

The future is in the actions of the old & the ideas being created through that actions in the minds of the young.

Read that again let that sink in.

This season I'm letting myself fall, along with the leaves.

I'm giving myself the permission of letting go.

I'm letting go of everything that held my spirit down.

Crashing on the ground as a lifeless entity.

Dead for the most part.

" In the name of love, he sold everything. His dreams and himself. "

said the dumb love that blinded millions, with a smerk on his face. His work was done.

It takes a lot to write sometimes,

It's just the way it is.

Because the words are just not words for us they are the golden bridge to the land of our worlds.

And sometimes it's hard to maintain that bridge where only few walk in and so much of us has been invested in maintaining the route.

it takes a lot to write sometimes.

I swear it does, the stories you read are made out of nothing.

The level of craziness you need to wake in you is sometimes less for us.

It's no less than God like creating something out of nothing. And yet every story is not the same.

it takes a lot to write sometimes.

I swear it does, sentences are a part of us. Sliced every inch by inch, carefully joining to present you a necklace of them.

Just so that people can wear it in their mouth. So that they can be seen. We believe they deserve it.

It takes a lot to write sometimes.

I swear it does, we want our pain to have a meaning. Our tragedies are the beauty we see. And our stories are hard to live by.

If only you could see what world we see. Inside of each and every one of you. You are our living acedemia.

It takes a lot to write sometimes.

I swear it does, because sometimes it doesn't make sence to love and be loved. Hate or to be hated. Held or be forsaken.

Were always in the middle of "something that will be and something that has been " and to be here is hard. To create here is hard.

I swear it takes a lot to write sometimes.

I swear it does because some of us we bleed in words.

I'm not here to amuse your existence with the magic of words.

I'm here because I exist.

These words are just not words.

They are the roar of my inner lion.

letting you know of my existence. Sometimes I roar loud to the point I'm scared with myself and sometimes I let out a moan of pain to ease the wounds.

Writing is just not an extra job for me.

This is my roar.

A part of my existence.

I write not out of curiosity or fun.

I write because I have to.

If I don't my inner lion will eat me from inside for what dosent kill you outside will slowly start from the inside.

This is not my fear this is my necessity. This right here is my therapy to shove the devils out.