|a freelance vintage juvenile (occasionally a pirate). books, music and people who like to laugh even though they remain pessimistic|
Peace is the first warm light of morning sun that touches your face when you walk out of your door
It is the smile on your father's face when you told him you will be back before dinner
The discovery of the fairytale book of your childhood on the deepest corner of the bookshelf
Peace can be found in something as complex as a Chopin's etude
While also resides in the simplicity of the late night walk down your favourite path back home
It is the laughter you share over the cans of coke and stupid jokes on the back end of a schoolyard
Or the little grin you found when you discover a mute button on a commentated sport live stream of a Wimbledon final
It is the warmth of a bowl of soup your mother...
You know the first thing I've noticed after all these years, was the stars.
Ever since I was little by the time the night falls, I would look up to the sky to see the stars.
Here's the problem ;
There are no stars.
There never was.
The sky from my world is always dark, yet I never stop looking.
Though in the end, I knew there would not be one.
But as I grew up I found out that I was not the only one.
Why are there no stars in our sky?
This I asked to countless people. My parents, my teachers, old friends, even some people I only happened to stumble upon.
Yet the replies are always the same.
"Perhaps it's just cloudy, try again tomorrow" or "it will be there tomorrow" or "it's just bad...
Louis says he'll buy me a dinner if I make him smile,
Apparently I made him laugh so he lets me ride his car
Louis says he knows a fancy restaurant down by the lake
He still takes me there though I've crashed his car
Louis says I talk too little and speak too much
Weird, he rants but I don't mind
Louis says I should learn to paint,
I say that's alright, I paint with my mind
Louis says he loves me,
that poetry bastard,
he got me there.
My light, my light,
where are you?
I feel the moment's coming
and yet you have not arrived
Don't worry, I left the door open
so you can easily find me when you come
My light, my light,
I am scared
don't you know?
He came instead, in absence of you
Have you met him before?
He told me you're his nemesis
yet he seemed to treasure you,
I wonder if such thing is possible
His words are like poison
In his arms he craddled me and I couldn't escape
I fear that he owns me, and my words are no longer my own
My light, my light,
when are you coming?
you are coming to get me, right?
If so I wonder why you never spoke,
Do you remember all the stories I've told you before?
I wasn't sure if it'd reached y...
I want to break free.
I wanna run and be young again
I want to dream, as tall as it could reach, without being stopped by unwelcoming voices of those who had given up.
Am I one of them now?
I dreaded that I have succumbed to their world too, and my imagination vanished and my dreams falter.
If so why do I still feel the isolation?
I can't seem to understand what's going on in your world
Don't diminish me,
my brain doesn't work the same direction as you do
They skip things and sometimes they are impossible to be explained
Don't disregard me,
I don't feel what you could feel
I am numb to emotions but I am open to true feelings
Isn't it fine that I don't want to care about your world?
Isn't it strange how the mind defies the heart?
The mind reasons the heart takes his part
The heart flutters the mind laughs too hard
The love is fair but I do not dare to start
There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
~ The great E. Hemingway
Bleed? Yes! Bleed!
Don't lecture, don't be precise, don't count, don't try to be great.
Isn't that why you're here in the first place?
You're here to be yourself, to tell secrets forbidden in your real world!
The whole point of this seemingly pointless and boring letter -which you might already want to close and leave behind,-
is simply me,
trying to remind you of it.
In order to do that, what's needed is just a simple bravery.
Bravery to scream and in terms of Hemingway, Bleed.
People are often afraid of big words, even though one rarely realised that big words are meani...
I call upon you,
my sweet words,
my sweet sweet sunlight,
I am lost!
I've looked for you but dear,
you're nowhere to be found!
My unworthy eyes watch the shape of your shadows
Still sitting admiring dreaming wondering,
how your face will be when you turn around
Don't scalp me,
Don't let me be just another poet
But do not come too soon,
My yearnings might fool me and I might mistake you for someone else
But my dear don't worry!
I will wait for you in eternity
You will never be late since I will never be early
Is that your footsteps approaching?
You are near but I cannot fathom
When you finally find me,
be patient with my nerves!
I am poor and wretched
Sick and unbeckoned
I dreamed of you but my dream awakens me.
I feel for you but my feelings are nowhere to be found.
I have lived a full life but it has deluded me.
My piano is the invicible black and white statue standing at the corner of the room.
He had no acquaintances but a true friend.
Every warm summer day,
he likes to dance and sway to the barcarolle.
Wether it's imperfect Tchaikovsky or Offenbach, his keys pictured its way to the lake boat and the young monsieur and mademoiselle deeply enamoured.
Upon rainy days he adored the
Reaching and searching for the hands to join.
He never complained about the rain,
instead he sings with them about the fall of the raindrop and the magnificent young monsieur who wrote about them.
The friend does not know where the piano came from.
The piano never tells,
The friend never asked.
Though in the ni...
Sweet sour canned lime
Glutonnous monks and upside down poster
Aye, come sin with me!
In the fleeting moment,
As light as the scratch of the torturing ink,
lulled away to the lone land,
The monk asked the question
What is the question?
The question is this and whatever the question happens to be
The writer sees but it does not feel
Its heart is dark, but it does not kill
So come may not and come what may,
Before its soul rot to gray
And the body itself
began to lay.
The whole point, is this :
Who are you?
Everything fades out. None burned.
I was never a cynic.
None a true conformist.
I was always in between.
I step in the line for the sake of the line itself.
Who are you?
I was bitter. I was mad. I was angry.
I was so ferocious inside it gradually turned to the feeling of numbness.
I lost the idea of faith. I lost the power to believe in anything. I have no moral guidances, lost the urge to seek one, lost the power to defy against one.
I was lost.
WHO are you?
I was a searcher.
I was looking. I was looking for everything. I was looking for perfection. I was looking up at symmetricism. I was fooled, deluded by the reality my senses con...
There are letters about anything. About love, missing your loved ones, and getting your first heart break. Letters about your day, or how do you feel about the rain! There are even letters about your newly born babies, or about your seemingly endless problems. Letters you wrote as you sip your day's first coffee, or when you encounter someone strange passing by. These letters, are memories. Each pressure of words is inscribed upon a certain moment in someone's life. And the joy when we received them! The image it formed about that special someone, taking their time, to write you a piece of mind. These little heartwarming things must have been invented by someone truly remarkable. We owe him t...
You are going to die.
Doesn't it struck you how for generations people have successfully avoided those 5 words? There will come a time when you lay on your deathbed, and the last glimpse of the world flashed before you. And that horrendous seconds when for the first time in your whole life, you are not sure of anything that might come.
You will die.
Just as everybody's going to die.
The world you've lived, the one you called your living reality, will no longer be upon your eyes.
Will your soul still be alive by then?
How does it feels like to be dead? The terrifying idea that you will just simply vanish, your existence leave no traces, that you won't have another chance.
You will die.
Hello to all of you out there who just happened to stumbled upon this when you're exploring the app! Sadly, this is my not so vicious advocacy dedicated to the people who spend their life thinking art is just posh, and the people who drown themselves in it as a huge big pile of megalomaniac pretenders. Sounds awful, and might not be what you're looking for in a day needed to be inspired, but bear with me.
When I scrolled down upon that "explore"-ing button when I first met this app, I remembered a catchy letter basically stating the hate to the people who pretended to be posh and sophisticated by posting bits of poetry. This is not uncommon, as I happen to know in person a lot of people with...
You, the so called the infinity,
is twisting the twisted mind of mine
Nor am I a philosopher as I am a poet,
In faith alone I searched for the light
The dark maze of mind
A single crack that bled
Ran through along the veins
And shuddered the heart
So I fell
Yet despising to retell
A heart of stone and mind of steel, admit
Is it true it rot in the warmth of smile?
Everything that shall be I find not.
Everything that need be I trust not
But, good God!
How it fluttered the heart!
It was like writing on a paper that's already full
I spoke but it bled and ran away.
Once in a while, I hid the dark and smile to it.
It bounced back but no warmth I felt.
Twice in a while I stepped forward
The shadow lingered upon my back
Haunting by its whispers and ghostly shades
So frightened were the souls that faced
No sights of them lingered upon my glance
Tell me those sweet wasted words
It was me and not the world
Turning away from the water reflection
Eyes closed, mind wondered
High away to a galactical triangle
When it opened, the water stood still
And see through I saw nothing
Speak dare speak my unwanted voice
I screamed and screamed yet shush they heard
Still be still m...
How's everyone's day? I sure hope it feels as glorious as mine. Might not be nice, or sweet, or warm, but glorious maybe. Enough to leave you pondering, so it sets its mark not to leave your little head. With Radiohead never getting too old fashioned, and the temperature setting at low, things are circling around my head like usual. I myself, like billions of strange souls in this planet, am stuck in a never ending monotonous daily routine. In just a minute I'll be gone to another place for another set of tiring activities. Right now, however, I'm enchancing the rare moment of relaxation. If you have somehow read this letter until this far, I must regretly informed you that I have tricked you...
Lately I've been doing much thinking about how the world views the people who choose not to spend their life with someone. Or so, they called the lonely ones. I myself prefer the word independent, lonely is always sounded some kind of euphimistic. Anyhow, I myself am an INTJ, and not rarely that I found I don't relate very well with people who gives their love fully and freely. I've heard people talk about how hard some people seems to share their love and I have been called ignorant of these kinds of things a lot. It's just we are not anxious in our search for love. We believe they will come around by their own or if not so some people might not just be destined to love someone in their life...
I'm not much of an up to date person, so it was really a coincidence when i stumbled upon this app while venturing around the market. I was immediately intrigued by the thoughts of reliving the persona of a letter in a whole new way since it has been replaced with social networks. This is my first letter and it would be the most exciting experience if i can get to know you better! I promise I would try my best on being the best pen pal though obstacles sure come in way, so hello to the readers! :)