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bellinah-zwane
17/F Half Zulu and half Sotho.
For what it’s worth, I still think about you at 12:36 When I know that you’re in a different time zone. Maybe it’s because the hour ahead of us is a constant reminder of how your heart, despite time and distance, is mine – like this clock, like this hurt, like this longing. Despite time and space, it is all mine. And, the love remains behind, with me, waiting to catch up to the next life, waiting for reality to stop just for a second, waiting for a chance just another chance only to wait again with a better sense of hope. Maybe I should wait for the next day, 23:11 will come and I’ll wish upon this **** this hurt and this longing while you, at 00:11 will wish upon the stars of a new day. Hoping today will dawn with the rise of our love only to realise that there are shams and shackles of could-have-beens in dusty roads of despair, bottle tops for pacifiers, balancing the toxins of sorrow ashed dreams, and sobs for lullabies – not your voice for my ears, not my song for your heart. Nothing but space and time.
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Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 6:00 AM UTC
Baby
Baby, Not everything is about you as not everyone is for you Not every journey will be worthwhile as not every encounter will be memorable Not every situation will cater for you as life is not tailored You’ve got your god and yourself, only And with these two forces comes love, understanding, respect and belief(s) Those are the only things about this world that you should value and guard with your all
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Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 6:49 PM UTC
Wake-Up-Call, Catch It
You may forget the songs that made you dance but never the moments that gave you the courage to put away staticity and jump into rhythmic momentum... Life is music, the rhythm is how we choose to live it and as you know music is music, no matter the genre...
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Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 8:41 AM UTC
Music Is Music
The trees dance to your madness! *Dancing, dancing, dancing. Crashing, falling and collapsing. Oh, They dance to*  your madness.
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Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 12:46 AM UTC
Storm III
Today I'm going to stop loving you. You are hard to love, but loving you is not hard. I love the scent of your skin as I lay next to you in bed, And the way your laughter curls at the ends of your lips, Then erupts across your face. I love you even when you don't love yourself. But my love for you makes me weak. When your sharp words are filled with anger and wrapped in bitterness, They pierce through my heart, I clutch my chest as the air leaves my lungs. The pain crashes over me in continuous waves, And I'm trying to keep my head above the water, But the tears from my eyes are flowing like open flood gates. And I can no longer see where I'm going, so I collapse, Into a puddle, still gasping for air.
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Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
How do I stop loving you?
*You feel a storm in your stomach, It fumbles your insides And pours down your face*
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Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
Storm II
*we treasured the moment so much we didn't see another day for when it felt like paradise, we forgot to pray... we said every word there was to say and what's more? We held so tight until we squeezed each other away.*
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Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 3:22 AM UTC
Like Paradise
The suns divulgence to the sky torrents every once in a while into distinguished hues.
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Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 4:27 PM UTC
certain Confirmations & Additional information
*Sometimes you miss segments of her and you wonder if it is due to how she revealed bits and pieces of herself It amazes me how... On some days you take out all the blankets; spread them across the bed and bury yourself In warmth and then in hiding While On other days you lay bare and daring - unclothed, uncovered, unashamed But perhaps this makes you feel closer to her...*
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Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 1:07 PM UTC
Reminiscence
If Life was black and white I'd be dating you, right for we are both lonely I can tell from the melancholy in the pieces you write. We're both broken and we have enough words to fix each other If only love was red and pink the flooding passion you have would not only end in ink.
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Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
Lonely Poet