blue eyes were always my favorite
until I fell in love with his brown eyes
the way they lit up when he laughed
and the way the glistened under flashing lights
that's when I knew
blue eyes were no longer my favorite

Caught in my mind
Chasing a love that's already gone
A piece of me still feels gone
The friends I left behind
And yet, here I am, lost in thought

Your gaze pulls me in
The warmth you bring
I wish I had the clarity
To undo what I’ve done
I long to fall
To follow where you lead
But I can’t help but turn back
To days I can't forget

- Bastian

within the binding
within the cover
the unseen pages
stitched together
silence and memory

“What do you hate the most?”
“Waiting.”

“What are you best at?”
“Waiting.”

Some sounds do not belong to instruments.
They live just after.
Or just before.

The echo the piano makes when no one is touching it.
The hum of a string not struck
 but shaken by something nearby.

The part of a voice
 when the singer forgets they’re being heard.

Sometimes the most important sound
  is the one that wasn’t played
    but was felt
      in the hand that almost moved.

There is a kind of music
  that only exists
    inside the listener.

I’ve heard more truth
 in the seconds between chords
 than in the chords themselves.

Because those seconds
    aren’t performed
    they leak.

And maybe that’s where the music
  stops pretending
  and becomes real.

i want to dissolve into the ocean waves
               lose what little identity i have
the soft splashing
the high tides
                      will death be my liberator
                 from this endless suffocation

𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘨𝘦,
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳.
𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘯,
𝘔𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥.
𝘉𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘴,
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘮
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥.
𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴,
𝘒𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥.
𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥.
𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨,
𝘍𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩,
𝘑𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 —
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳...