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Alexia Vinciane May 2014
I know I'm no saint
and even though
I've told you this
a million times

I'm still sad
that you're starting
to see it too.
Alexia Vinciane May 2014
Four years
Six months
Six days.

Time passes far too quickly for my liking.
The memories I want to cling to,
The memories I want to hold on to forever
Seem to fade.

Why?
Why can nothing stay as perfect as a picture
Hanging in a frame
Forever memorialized?

Fifteen years.
Six months
Eleven days.

Crying has always given me headaches,
I never liked it,
I never let myself do it
Not even then.

Why?
Why couldn’t I let myself break down
In front of Family
Who did the same?

Fifty-Nine years
Five months
Thirteen days.

That’s not nearly enough time for anyone
To live their life to it’s fullest
To tackle every thing you can
So why did it stop there?

Why?
Why couldn’t the fight go on ?
There was
So much more to do

Sixty-Three years
Eleven months
Eleven days.
Had room for two in me tonight, apparently.

I wish my memories didn't grow so foggy
It's strange to realize you can't remember how someone so important to everything you've done can just... fade.
It's frightening to wake up one day and realize you can't remember their voice
Alexia Vinciane May 2014
It’s weird
The phases we go through.
Nothing ever really
Stays the same
Not like we want it to
Life moves on
Life is moving on
And yet
Here we stand
Stuck in the mud
Dragging the past behind us
Using it to look at the future

But
How does a bird fly
When all it’s feathers are filled with dirt?

We cannot let it go
That is proven
But it should not
Hold us back.

Get rid of the old
Get on with the new

Why is that so hard?
sometimes I sit down and think "Oh I should write" and just type and things happen
hence this

I think about the past a lot. It's shaped me in many ways, both good and bad. Everyone says "You've got to move on sometime" But can we ever really do that? I don't seem to be able to.
Alexia Vinciane May 2014
You are my platonic love,
My long-lost other half.
But not in the way that
First comes to mind.
You are my soulmate
My twin, my confidant,
I could spend
The rest
Of my life
With you.

But not in that way.
I don't have a word for it.
Its something more than best friends,
but platonic, not intimate like lovers.
Soulsister, perhaps.
But she can only be described as my Marisol
Alexia Vinciane Apr 2014
We are but children
Dancing to a tune we do not know
Playing our hands with strings
Attached to toys we use as puppets
And acting god.

We see a world of possibilities
The laughs
The smiles
The joy
The potential.

We take what strings we can
Hold them
Dance with them
Listen to the whirs
Of their intricate ties
The songs that sing
When they move.

But when they break,
What then?
Do we become
Inconsolable monsters
Ravaging everything in our paths,
And only looking back
Ages later
To see
Maybe
We were in the wrong?

When someone takes a string
That we held close to us
Trying to control our puppets
And theirs as well
Do we scream?
Do we fling things childishly about?

We are but children
Though we pretend to be other.

Damaged,
Broken,
Desperate children
Seeking shelter from the storm
Under tree branches.


Oh what poor fools we are.
mrehn.
I don't like this
but
Oh well

— The End —