Last night,
I dreamt of you.
For the first time,
It was so real...
You were there to comfort me,
As we just lay in bed,
Watching tv
Kissing,
Snuggling,
healing.

When I woke up,
You weren't there,
And reality ran me over with a truck,
And I realized it will only be
*just a dream.

Yes, books are dangerous. They should be dangerous- they contain ideas.

Forgive me, I know I’m not perfect
my loving ways aren’t perfect
but my love for you is real
fear may have concucted my mind
fortune tellers may be redundant in this matter and somewhere along the way I will hurt you
but don’t let the hardships change the way you perceive me
the way you turn my imagination into reality
my soul recognises your scent instantly
my heart has countless beats
when I pour my feelings to you
when I contemplate on the windows of your soul
that lets me into your garden of mind
that lets me rest for a while in your deep breaths
'cause really what’s life with getting the wrong direction
I lack patience
sometimes I ride way too ******* my sense of humour
I’m misunderstood of my sarcastic ways
of my ironic mindset of love’s understanding
ups and downs mend our connection
melancholy, interestingly, keeps us intact
forgive me, for I am not perfect
speak up, might wanna change my ways.

would you whisper softly
   onto my skin
      with your fingertips?

We seek the truth, in others.
We seek answers in books, written by people. Yet the greatest question we are never, in the mood to answer is...

We had our monsters under the bed
They kept us from the shadows of night
From peering in the closet
And walking down the hallway

Now just disguised as thoughts in our heads
They keep us from much uncertainty
From peering into our souls
And living our days with joy

But both paralyze
Steal security
And gift us sleepless nights

Fear has great power
It kills and destroys...
But only if power is granted

Seize each glad moment
Cherish it before it dies
Smold'ring in ashes