Not yet,
Thy laugh, still a melody to my ears,
Thy voice, still a gentle wind I breathe,
Thy compliment, still my favourite poem,
Thy face, still a moonlight on the ocean in my eyes;

How can I?
Thy existence were like;
Pouring a cup of espresso,
Filled the emptiness of the cup
With the warmth, the taste and flavours.

The fear of death follows the fear of life.
The fundamental nature of knowledge, reality, and existence.
Would one be ready when the bittersweet death arrives,
The deafening silence and the danger of the mind and its insistence.

The twists and turns to envelop the philosophy of life can make one glad or mad.
Like what “success” means, what one’s purpose in life is.
How to decide on what is “good” and bad”.
Questions as old as time where the philosophy of life takes such bliss.

The philosophy of life takes the meaning of life into account.
The aspect of existence that processes, acts, reacts, and evolves through growth.
The real reason one would get up in the morning fills no amount
A void that fills the philosophy of life is what’s keeping death and life betrothed.

Books as old as time, casing as brown as my eyes
the taste of bliss and amour
a deep thud once placed on the library table
the smell of grass and that faint vanilla scent
wise and rare, beat-up and old looking
as I awoke and flung into a kingdom full of quotes.
the habit that's like a disease, for which there is no cure,
as I frown, I smile, I cry, deep within me is what I feel. a burst of emotions a vintage book could bring.