Lesson #1:
In LOVE, you have to act like a WOMAN,
and think like a MAN.

Lesson #2:
In LOVE, never do an ACTION
which can cause CONFLICTS.

Lessons #3:
In LOVE, PATIENCE is still
a VIRTUE.

Lesson #4:
In LOVE, you must be familiar
on the word "CHANCE".

Lesson #5:
In LOVE, you have to be
more ACCURATE to your ANSWERS.

Lesson #6:
In LOVE, ARGUMENTS has
the sweetest RECONCILIATION.

Lesson #7:
In LOVE, TIME is IMPORTANT
for each other.

Lesson #8:
In LOVE, MEMORIES you built
are IRREVOCABLE.

Lesson #9:
In LOVE, LIES must be outnumbered
by TRUTHS.

Lesson #10:
In LOVE, never run to CONCLUSIONS
faster than the SPEED of LIGHT.

Close your eyes.
Do you hear it?
The soft ticking in the background;
The sound of ink being punched onto parchment.

When you blow out your candles,
close your eyes,
and listen as the paper is reset.
Life is like a typewriter,
equipped with limited paper and red, Red ink ribbon.

Every action:
word, breath, kiss,
is stamped onto parchment.
Some people try to white it out,
forget it ever happened.
But turn the page over,
place it in front of the flame
and the red ink will be there,
a constant reminder.
Read what you’ve written,
be astonished by words,
and ashamed of phrases.
But accept the idea that it is the past, and cannot be undone.

Nothing is planned, for the parchment ahead is blank,
but this is not always a bad thing:
A blank page is like an open trail.
You’re free from restrictions and guidelines.

Will you sit with me,
close your eyes,
and listen for our typewriters?
One day,
when I re-read my story,
I hope you will always be in there,
somewhere close.

The greatest temptation of a trapped body is freedom.
A freedom of the soul that leaves the body behind,
in its prison,
and releases the soul
into the autumn wind.
The body is left with the dying green;
buried in browns, burgundies, and blacks;
decorated with red ribbons, purple and blue flowers,
and a rope -- around the neck.

A rope sent by the Devil in the mind's weakest state.
It coiled itself around the neck and hissed in the ears.
It sang:
So long as the body is snared, so is the soul and mind.
Yet, the mind wonders through deserts and swims in oceans.
But the rope sank its fangs deep into the mind,
releasing a poison that brought it to the prison of the body.
It became a mind craving the same release as the soul.
That is when the Devil wins; when temptation is taken,
and the soul has died,
alone,
lost in the autumn wind.

I write these things
To make myself feel better
And most of the time
I fool myself well

But sometimes it doesn't work

Have you ever
carried the world
and not known it?
Went on with your
life, without care?
Collecting stones,
shining pebbles,
weighing pearls.

When you can't feel the mountains protruding from your back,
The
waves
crashing behind
your eyes,
storms
                 brewing
                                    in your ears;
the devil in your head,
and the angel in your heart.

When you don't know
they're there, you grow
envious of
other people's
treasures. They lug
heavy buckets
of stones, pebbles,
and pearls while
it seems you own
a small pouch that
is worth nothing.

So you spend your days at the river,
collecting stones,
                 shining pebbles,
                              weighing pearls.
With some, they can see
                                          the storm coming;
                                                         ­                                               hear the thunder
before the lightning strikes.
With me,
it was
a pebble,
a shiny pebble that
                                                            ­                                                       jumped
from its bucket,
flew up: past the angel, devil, oceans, and storms, landed on the mountains and crushed
me
under its weight.
The mountains shook and
crumbled from the weight,
the
waves
crashing and
churning –
overflowing.
The storms
                       made me
                                                              ­                 deaf
but I can still hear
the devil screaming
and feel the angel dying.

I have no choice
but to proceed
to lug heavy
buckets of stones,
and of pebbles,
and of pearls
while the other
people go on
without a care;
with a small pouch
that is worth so
much – that I’d die
to hold again.