As time passed, it felt like it was the last. The final blooming of the season, and I still have no thoughts to reason. The leaves are drying out, I had no words to spout. Not even as my mind whirl, I go to the bed silently and curl. Yet I have a strong faith, […]Read More 76. The leaves are drying out.
I used to write about the stars, and people forget about the scars. Because with dreams we feel secure, and escaping seemed like the cure. I was speaking about the sun, to hide the truth of the waning fun. I think the past was about hiding, hiding the pains which until now sting. When everybody […]Read More 70. We leave those metaphors.
Do not forget. Give peace and do not fret. You and I both still lack. Even in your heart, I can’t hack. It is not okay. Yet I wish you always stay. Hold my hands tightly. It’s just, “I’m sorry.” To my heart, I want you to knock. Even then, I wish you back. Let’s […]Read More 37. I’m sorry, my butterfly.
Many times you give up, with stress you just want to stop. But if you think with the negatives, there’s no entrance for the positives. You think about your prayers, and ask for some definite answers. These aren’t given on a haste, and not a matter of copy and paste. The year after is now […]Read More 36. It’s a ticket from faith.