|Modern day philosopher, mistaken for a poet.|
I've come to loathe unnatural light; the yellowish hue of standard 100-watt lightbulbs don't really hurt my eyes as much as I can feel them stabbing me on a level that transcends physical.
So I dwell in darkness.
We've been taught of time to fear the dark.
And it makes some sense. We can't see, and if we can't see, we can't protect ourselves, and if we can't protect ourselves, the risks are even higher, right?
But what if nothing is there?
I think I loathe light because it allows me to see, everything.
Sunlight provides warmth and is soothing, but lightbulbs provide no comfort from the world it forces you to see.
Just truth; just raw truth.
But in darkness, you can't see anything, s...
I remember riding my bicycle as a kid, ducking under the low-hanging branches of trees not yet tall enough to touch the skies.
Not like me, though.
I felt as if I could touch the sky.
Funny; the more I've grown, the smaller I've become.
It's interesting how the pursuit of happiness is just a reminder that you're sad; every second you spend looking to find joy is a second of admission, that you exist in a state of sadness.
And when we acquire that joy, we are pleased.
For the time being.
Until we set off on our search once more, for the things we discover to fill our voids only end up devoured by them; that joy lasts only as long as one can hold onto a breath.
But we must exhale.
I cried when I lost you.
And only now do I realize,
I never lost you.
You were never mine.
You weren't meant to be held by hands.
Only felt by hearts.
You didn't love me.
You took my heart and ate your fill, but you never loved me.
We are beasts, eating out of boredom.
Someone told me that being faithful is difficult because "we don't choose who we love."
And it's true.
But we can choose whose face we see as the sunlight bleeds through the blinds and into the bed at 7am.
We can choose whose hand we want to hold for as long as it takes for our palm prints to synchronize and our fortunes show nothing but each other, indefinitely.
We can choose who we want our children to grow with and learn from.
We can't choose who we love.
We can choose who we give our heart to.
I know the truths about you that you won't admit.
I know your strengths and your weaknesses.
I know you.
I know you hold on to pain like it's pleasure, and it's not.
I know you think life has nothing to offer you, before you've see its wares.
We lose things all the time; television remotes, loose change, loved ones. But you are so afraid to lose things that you neglect yourself the chance to ever have them.
You sacrifice pieces of yourself in hopes that what remains of you when you pass will be remembered with love, and not forgotten.
I know you want to be happy.
I know you want to make others happy.
I know you don't want to be alone.
You are a simple soul with simple de...
I remember you reaching for my hand.
I remember me pulling away.
You said I was too cool for love.
I was never cool, but if your hands could melt the iceberg that you thought me to be, then I would have held your hand forever.
But I was never cool. I'm just cold.
This isn't an iceberg of false personas or public images.
This iceberg sinks love like ships.
Your hands cannot melt the ice around my heart, but my heart will leave your fingers frostbitten.
So stay warm, love.
My heart and I will be just fine.
We were made for the winter.
"I'm gonna miss you."
That's what she said.
But she hugged me like she wanted to say something more.
I've never cared for cups half full or half empty because the only cup I've ever drank from was two hands put together under a fountain of dreams and ambitions I could taste but never hold onto for they overflowed and splashed upon my bare feet leaving footprints of my desires behind with each step I took until they dried up from the copious amounts of sunlight that both brought light into my life but also vaporized my aspirations as if to say these wings I sprouted were of wax and I've stared too long at stars to see the supernova of myself.
But how beautiful would the skies be, if stars lasted forever...
I have very few fears.
Not something I'm proud of.
Of these, the one that plagues me most is the fear of being eaten alive.
Odd, you think, but forces eat away at us constantly, from the moment we breathe our first breath.
Currently, what eats at me is uncertainty. My curiousity won't let me accept what I do not know. I obsess over the unanswered and the absence of closure; I ponder what ifs.
Before I'm consumed by the beasts that eat at me, I want to come to accept one thing; none of us leave with all of our pieces in place.
There are bite marks in all of us.
Autumn is my favorite season and yet, I'm not anticipating its arrival like I usually do.
In fact, I miss summer.
Autumn has always been my favorite season; the scenery, the weather, everything about it feels like a visual representation of the emotions I can't express.
Autumn feels like me.
But as this October breeze creeps through my window, I feel an unease.
I've never been fond of change, but this is different.
I think I miss summer because once again, I missed out on all the things summer represents.
Good times with friends.
Carefree days and nights on the town.
Sunsets and summer love.
I've always been alone.
I've always let summer slip away.
And now that I'm getting olde...
I could never love to the moon and back.
This implies that the love ends once it returns; the moon is relatively close.
I love to the edges of the ever-expanding universe. I give love that I know will always remain with whom it's given to and I will never take back.
I love to extremes.
I love forever.
I don't love enough.
There are a handful of people who I love; a child's hand.
But this variety of love isn't for everyone.
Love isn't easy. Eternal love is even harder.
As one who doesn't often open up to people, it is particularly difficult for me to love.
But I've been saved from the world and from myself. Those who have given me chances that I may not have discovered alone are forever ...
I find inspiration in sadness.
I find inspiration in regret and doubt.
I find it in the tears I shed in silence.
I'm inspired by cynicism, by the worst the world has to offer.
I'm inspired by lost love and forgotten friendships.
I'm inspired by hollow hearts.
I'm inspired by vacant souls.
This world has shown me misery in many forms; I always manage to find hope within them.
That's what imspires me most; hope.
Pain seems more prominent than pleasure.
I've searched for one, but always find the other.
I'm always trying to understand myself, others, and the world around me. I've had little success with all three, but one thing I've learned extensively is pain.
Many things cause me pain.
I often admit it half-heartedly; I try to portray myself as invincible and impenetrable.
But I've been pierced by spears reaching into depths of myself that I've hidden from the world for safekeeping.
Not deep enough.
Losing people pains me.
I tell people that I don't like people; I mean to say that I love people too much. I value friendships and awkward glances at strangers and mutual smiles shared by passerbys ...
My heart grows more quiet with each passing day; it beats tired and defeated. There isn't much that excites me that deeply.
Have you ever looked into the eyes of someone you admire?
There's something about eyes that seem so mystical, and even more so when you feel drawn to a person.
I've become lost in eyes before.
I've sacrificed hours, days even, trapped in someone's eyes.
Days I wouldn't want back.
Days well spent.
Eyes bring my heart back to life.
I've held a broken heart.
I've traced my finger along the sharp, jagged edges.
I had hoped to cut myself, for if I'm to bleed, let it be in the name of love.
But I didn't bleed, and you didn't believe that I was willing to spill blood for you.
Maybe all along, your broken heart wasn't willing to allow me that chance.
I've never flown on a plane.
And yet, somehow I can see the world from a bird's eye view each time I close my eyes.
I look down upon the tiny pets and people and wonder if they're looking up at me, just another tiny thing; a speck in a vast sky.
It's strange what distance can do.
Planets look like marbles.
Giants look like action figures.
Everything's so small from far away...
I died long ago.
I died and performed my own autopsy.
I opened myself and let many hands reach within and wrap around my heart, carelessly caressing with the assumed intentions to revive me.
They only bring death after death.
Fine china or fragile hearts;
It's funny how the things that are worth the most break the easiest.
I've loved the world and it didn't always love back.
I've left pieces of myself in places that I'd never thought I'd forget, but are now places I can't return.
I've hollowed out my heart to make room for things that only stayed long enough for me to miss them once they've left.
But I'm still here.
And I still stand.
And I still love.
"Why do people fear losing things that they do not yet have?"
In a way, coping with the loss of something you don't have is harder than that of something you've acquired.
When you want something badly, you create a world in your mind where it's already yours; a fantasy life where all is right. But when you notice that object of your desires slipping away, you realize that the hope of bringing that fantasy into fruition is also slipping.
The fantasies we live in are always more lavish than the real world and they're hard to let go, so we often cling to the things that we create them around, ignoring the real world until the fantasy falls apart and painfully rips us back out of our lucid d...
"Is love just a feeling?"
I struggle to understand love quite often, for I am frequently victimized by its presence.
And blessed simultaneously.
I believe love is a feeling, but not "just a feeling".
Unlike happiness or sadness, love requires effort. You can be happy when you get a raise or sad when your pet dies, but love requires you to see someone and accept them as a part of you. It requires you to open yourself to something foreign and unknown; something separate from yourself. It requires you to allow that something to intertwine with your existence and become one.
Love is hard work.
It's oddly inspiring, how breathing is involuntary.
Something wants you to live.
I didn't always like spring.
But spring has inspired me to be brave, because if the earth can cry while everyone's watching, so can I.
Somedays, I feel small.
I look up and I see the world towering over me; all my obstacles and burdens like skyscrapers piercings the clouds and trespassing into God's domain.
But then I remember...
God has given me wings, the likes of which made the angels jealous.
I will soar above those obstacles and those burdens alike, and I won't feel so small.
Your wings will take you where you want to be.
Somedays, I tie the weight of the world to my pen so I can feel it in every penstroke.
Somedays, I throw paper airplanes with my heart written on them towards the moon and hope they end up where they need to be.
Somedays, I don't think about you.
Somedays, I reminisce on days when we were free to care, but only cared to be carefree.
Somedays, I swim clumsily through my thoughts trying to learn how not to drown in the memories.
Somedays, I almost ask for help.
Somedays, I live life entirely through dreams and don't awake until they don't feel like dreams anymore.
Somedays, my lips do this thing where the corners turn upwards and form the shape of my favorite letter; U.
When I love, I love forever.
I love with a volcanic intensity, where emotion erupts from my heart in displays of undoubted affection.
I love until I've ran out of ways to show it, at which time I get creative enough to develop new ways to spread love that the world has never seen and the likes of which could make Cupid jealous.
I love with my heart, my brain, my lungs, my stomach, my soul, and with parts of me I don't always know exist until you remind me.
I love from a place deep within where all the hatred in the air I breathe is converted into something that makes birds sing and the moon glow and babies smile in their sleep.
I love to extremes that surpass intricate proposals and sw...
Temporary time machine, as I close my eyes, take me back to a time where worry and woe followed strict curfew and the biggest problem we had was finding where to "plank". Take me back to when days felt like days and not milliseconds, passing by in blinks of the eye.
Take me back to when we'd wait for the school bus on a cold winter morning, but the dark made it feel like night and the ride to school was a better sleep than a comfortable bed could offer as smooth jazz played on the radio overhead and in the background of a dream about a future very different from the one that came to be.
Take me back to when we didn't care.
To when we didn't struggle.
To when tomorrow didn't exist.