You get millions of fan mails, Betelling your beauty, flattering your sliver shine, in which every night Lovers' sail.
In this unmeasured time, I always wondered why you choose to play the moon? Though in the nights, you try to cosplay the stars.
You must wonder! Sometimes, if it was just a bit easy to be the stars. If it wasn't painful burning twenty four hours. You wouldn't have dared to steal their spark.
In deed you paid for that sin of yours, Now everyone watches your imperfections, the scars and pores.
You disappeared soon after that full moon, without letting me pay the fairs, I rode you many times, to my wounds you also glared, But soon I realized it was just a fifteen days affair. May be you get tired living in someone else's reflection, may be you're also a salve of this desperation. #inspiration#friendship#life#nature#love#travel#poetry#thoughts#diary
I think we were meant to meet in the most normal way imaginable.
I don't think I remember much about that day at all. The one thing I can say for certain is that it was in September. It's written in bold in my diary. "Met somebody."
You once stayed up all night, to watch the sky turn from black to an early morning pink to that shade of sunrise. That's what you always called it, "that shade of sunrise".
Sometimes we would just sit next to each other, and let that crisp silence wash over us. "Watch it tiptoe into our bones", were your exact words. Another diary entry.
You were not the kind of person who seemed to enjoy sunsets or lazy afternoon walks by the beach. And yet, those were exactly the kind of things we would end up doing.
You seemed to know an awful lot of things, and I hated books with a passion. And yet, we never ran out of things to talk about. I asked too many questions, and you never got tired of answering.
Is this what love feels like, I once asked after one glass of wine too many. "We'll worry about that later. Let's get you home now." As always, you were the consummate gentleman. Practically perfect in every way.
I think what I enjoyed most was the look of unfeigned shock on your face. When you learned who I was. "I thought you loved me."
I leaned in close, my voice barely a whisper. "Oh I do love you. I wish I could love you without breaking you. Honey, I wish you weren't a killer. And I wish I wasn't a cop."
I must have been the only person who shed a tear when you were sentenced to death.
Hello guys...Isn't it be a fun to know that how people would like to spend their last day of life , if they know that today is their last day of living. So it's a challenge to pen down your things with creativity that what would you like to do on your last day of life !
I know loneliness. It comes to me sporadically, but always leaves a lasting impression. Does that make sense?
The first time I met loneliness, I was a teenager, I think. I don't quite remember whether it was night or day. But what I remember is that it came, stayed for a short while, and left.
It made a promise however. "I will come back."
And the strangest thing of all, it actually kept its promise. That counts for something right? Someone who actually values their promises. Someone, for whom, words are not merely hollow vowels and consonants arranged together to form beautifully destructive sentences.
Loneliness appeared at mornings when I woke up. It came at the last chime of the midnight clock. It came when I finished reading the last page of a book. I began to notice a pattern.
Loneliness would always come at the beginnings and the ends. It would never gate-crash the middle. It always seemed to exist to finish the unfinished. To fill in unexplained gaps.
"You will remember me when a happy memory courses through you. You will think about me when you can see hope peering in through miniscule cracks. You will thank me when you stumble around for the first rays of light after a dark dawn. And you will pine for me when despair fills your senses."
To this day, I never quite know when loneliness will come knocking on my door. All I can do is to let it in, when it does arrive. And I let it go to when it wants to leave. For as it said once, it always comes back.
And this I know, as certain as the dust in my bones: Loneliness always keeps its promises.