anecdoche

www.instagram.com/thedaytingale/

What defines me? Nothing. A definition excludes the possibility of change.

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  • anecdoche 11w

    // ���� ������ �������� �������� //

    Keep me undefined
    Like a river beneath the depth
    And watch me melt drop by drop
    On each of your breath

    I have crossed the mountains
    And ripped through the skies
    Foraging warmth of another home
    In a beloved's hopeful eyes

    So, if your tragedies aren't dry
    Embracing will be my sighs
    Just hold me forever
    And keep me undefined.


    ©anecdoche

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    Does the rain really sing?
    Or is it just an echo
    Of all the words
    We dared not to say?

    ©anecdoche

  • anecdoche 16w

    And all the night my lullabies hum
    Rhythm of the words left unstrung
    ©anecdoche

  • anecdoche 17w

    As we sat by each other, beneath the blanket of the starlit sky, I let my words pour out of my heart and almost subconsciously said:
    "You are the kind of girl people write books about"
    She looked up at me, her eyes locked with mine, and her lips quiter than the silence of the sea.

    "Tragic?"
    "Huh?"
    "Isn't tragedy the one people treasure within words? Too afraid to lose? Too mesmerized to set free?

    'Cause tragedy is the one that makes them feel powerful. It flatters them. It breaks one to the bones and drags them to death, but leaves enough life in them to impress themselves. To build themselves all over again and feel powerful.

    We all spend our lives villainising tragedies and giving us medals of bravery. Thinking we are the strong ones to have kept going.
    The truth is, we were allowed to keep going. We were left with enough life within us to keep going. On purpose.

    Accept it or not, we are all at the mercy of our tragedies".

    Her eyes wandered back to the moon, perhaps searching their light within them. But mine, they knew they had found their life. It lies within hers.
    ©anecdoche

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    "You are the kind of girl people write books about"
    "Tragic?"
    "Huh?"

    ©anecdoche

  • anecdoche 49w

    If forevers ever happened to be true
    They will go by the name of you
    And steal a hue of glee
    To drown in the colour of you
    From eternal sunrays to seasonal blues
    Inking miracles as they come true
    If forevers ever happened to be true
    They will go by the name of you

    The serenity freedom breathes
    Has fragrance made of you
    That sprinkles spry hope
    Onto glooms old and new
    Stealing the rhythm of a tidal wave
    Stars will hum a sonnet for you
    If forevers ever happened to be true
    They will go by the name of you


    ©anecdoche


    A very Happy Birthday to you @philosophic_firefly !!
    May you always be happy ~♥~

    #ulfatkabudday

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  • anecdoche 50w

    If hope was ever to be painted on the canvas, it would wrap itself in the colours of the sunrays trying to ignite the dying life in the last autumn leaf. It would reflect the shine of the star peeping through the shells of the clouds before a storm breaks. Its hues would cast a shadow as dark as the night behind a drunken moon. And its strokes, they would trace the paths of the tides caressing your feet every minute, just to ebb back into oblivion.

    If hope was ever to be painted on the canvas, it would dress itself in the rhythm of the heartbeat hums. It would blush in the colours of innocence a flower breathes. And would drench itself in the fragrance of the first raindrop seeping on a barren field.

    If hope was ever to be painted on a canvas, it would steal the hues of a sunset in a dying winter. Its silhoutte would echo the warmth of a hearty smile. And its weave, it would breathe in the shape of the vagabond wings, searching for the warmth of an abode before the dusk breaks.

    And before you know, it would have left a shade of its silhoutte on your heart, staining it severly, till fear breathes again.

    ©anecdoche

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  • anecdoche 50w

    Words bleed the colours
    Your heart dwells upon
    One tincture of love
    And it's all begone
    Some moments of glee
    Or a forlorn memory
    Accentuating the ones
    Most thought upon
    Words bleed the colours
    Your heart dwells upon
    ©anecdoche

  • anecdoche 51w

    NOTE:

    This isn't a write-up. This is a letter. To someone I know will never read. But I still write, hoping one day, my words will echo loud enough to reach the corners of her heart.

    ---------------------------------------------

    28th October 2020
    Wednesday

    8:00 p.m.

    I know I left a long time ago. And I will never trace the footsteps I have walked on. But standing on the shores of the memories, seeing the emotions fade into the horizon, I can't help but blend into the shadows of these monochromatic words.

    The sky is starless again. The smoke that owns the night leaves an essence of a past I could never forget. And the tick tock of the clock reminds me of my heartbeat racing against it. 5 years ago.

    My eyes were on the door. And my patience, on the stillness of the clock. I knew you were gone. Forever. For better. But the heart wants what it wants. And then, the clock striked 8. Somebody shouted "What was the timing of her flight?" and I, without flinching a little said "8 p.m."

    Wednesdays. They were never my favourite. And ever since you left me on that fateful night of October, I started hating them more. They all asked me "aren't you sad that your bestfriend left forever?" and I, with my eyes still on the door, said "No".

    Time slipped away like sand through the hands. But left behind a raw dust of turbulent emotions. Voids after voids echoed through my heart and the whirlpool of miseries drowned my conscience. I wandered between the cycles of finding myself and losing identity all over again. A utopia called solace, seemed too far away.

    It took time five years to bring 28th october another Wednesday, and to me, another life. Your sudden departure without a goodbye left a void. A void that never left my side. From a depressed child on medications, to a confident girl, you taught me a lot. You taught me how to smile. How to laugh. And how to fight. You taught me how to live. But your absence layered over all those lessons.

    Five years ago, today, destiny erased the chapters of glee from my life. And wrote for me, the miseries that haunt me every night.

    Five years later, now, I am ready to re-write the book of my life with the wings of freedom. The freedom with which I am ready to fly again.

    I am heading to detach myself from all the memories that chain me from the foot of fears. And allowing myself to embrace life again.

    And this time, my eyes won't be on the door.

    ©anecdoche

    #letterc

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    28th October
    A Wednesday

  • anecdoche 53w

    I will leave mirakee soon :)

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    Amongst the hundreds of messages left unread, lied a question too baffling to be answered.

    "How are You?" it read. How am I? I don't know. I have been trying to find an escape from the emotions reality gifted me. I am at a run. Trying to dress in the surrealities of the burning hope. I am left at the courtesy of my breaths. Constantly on the shores of the fear. The whirpool of my own imaginations choke me, and I find myself doubting every sunset I have lived.

    All I am left with is me. Nothing but a rosary of lies. Lies that still hold onto the thread of hope, just to hear a silent whisper of belief. A belief to paint all the barren canvases of lies. But all that surrounds are voids. Voids that scream uncertainty. Voids that strangle breaths.

    Every belief I have clunged to, shattered into pieces. Every hope I embraced, turned to ashes. The dust of my past haunts me and the future, it seems too far away. I am lost between the land of ironies and hypocrisy, it seems to be the only way.

    Now, amongst all the crisis of the existential chaos, how should I tell you how I am?

    ©anecdoche

  • anecdoche 54w

    Love is nothing but an ember of lies
    One igniting touch and the dignity dies
    Yet dreaming of spring and all it's highs
    I'll burn myself to drown in your eyes
    ©anecdoche

  • anecdoche 54w

    And maybe stars never met the night.
    For betwixt them lied a distance
    Too bright to mend
    Too destined to end.
    ©anecdoche