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soliloquy; ephemeral landings
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Posted on Monday, 27 January 2014 @ Monday, January 27, 2014
My love,It'd be terribly un-romantic to say that at this time of the hour, where there's countless crumpled papers on the floor and horrible scribbles everywhere on the table, I miss you like I've never did before. I need you here, sitting across the bed, looking at me write and curse at the little words I can't seem to find and pen down. I miss the slight creak of the bed when you move to tuck my hair behind my ears, and tell me there's nothing else you'd do all your life but to look at me just the way I am now. Curses, messy hair and torn pages of the book. It's exactly the same scene, right here, right now. Just that you're not here, on the bed, laughing at me when I give up trying to write. The words don't come easily anymore. They don't stream in and out like they used to. Remember when we used to rhyme colours with random words? Purple Maple, Orange Storage. Now it's all Red Mad, Blue Flu. And then, nothing. Blank nothingness. At times when I trace my finger along the spot where you used to sit, I'd cry all day. All night. Wishing you were here, so I could write again. Even now as I sit here, thinking of sentences to construct and the time I'm running out of, I can't help but to look at the sky outside. I wonder, are you doing the same too? Do you feel the way I feel?
Pack my bags and watch me go,
Sing to me so soft and slow,
Bring me to your tear stained walls,
Kiss me when the dawn draws close.
I don't know what it's supposed to turn out into, that piece. But it's something, and something might come out of it. Soon enough. I hope. Know that I love you. Now and always, forever. Even when there's nothing to say. Or nothing left for you to fight for. Remember me, the way I'll always remember you.
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Kaleidoscope of Craziness
I write to change, to express, to share. All pictures are mine, unless stated. Enjoy roaming around ;) Some people are destined to sing. To act. To host a talk show. To become a songwriter for recording artistes. To take phenomenal pictures from around the world. To teach. To heal and to nurse. To be in an orchestra or to play an instrument by the streets to entertain the weary passerbys. Everyone is destined to be an individual who'll change the lives of others someday in their own unique way to touch hearts and heal broken ones. Everyone has a destiny, a road to walk and a path to remember when you're old and sitting by the fireplace, reminiscing the old times. I believe mine, is to write. FOLLOW INSTAGRAM TWITTER Tweets
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