Sunlight trapped inside a raindrop
the Moon passing within a puddle
spirit shinning in the eyes of a child

Under that palm tree,
We once laughed at lazy farmers,
Across that path we were made novice lovers,
Then you smiled,
You knew, I knew what you meant,
Right there we once danced in the rain,
Smile days after days,
Beneath that Carriage we first made love,
But its over, and forgotten,
Like a stone at the bottom of the ocean,
We left dager in our biased heart,
Sort of two stones thrown I different directions,
Everyday owing each moment, that I have vividly imagine,
Pictured place perfectly in my heart,
My old diary of great mystery,
Mysteries we fathomed,
Seemed to be fantasy and shield phantom,
You reveled to me,
My old brown dairy you gave me,
All pages up here In my memory,
With a golden ribbon

I.

No, don't go now. Please
don't go now; the fog is creating ghosts
out of people and we're breathing clouds out of our mouths.
Tell me about that time when you held your breath
under the lake for six years and still survived;
tell me how if I do that, it'll never work.
I'm not a sea God
any more.

II.

My knees tell better stories than my tongue
ever did, please don't; wretched hive harangues
the mind in a plague, can't you see I'm holding you down
and telling you you're all I ever wanted,
you're all I ever wanted; your head is the stuff of dreams
you're all I ever wanted; you can put your arm
right through me and only feel mist;
I am fog. I'm creating ghosts out of you.

III.

Make it up to me in a rainbow of hues of grey;
at the end of it I'm holding my ribs open. I've never
been more colourful and sad at the same time.
You're the mirrors to my house; stay
has always sounded better than don't go

yet neither seems to work anymore.

We say we have given up and yet we hold on,
How did we get here and when?

Sleeping with one eye open
And keeping the porch light on,
Not even knowing what for

Cause no one is coming,
No one ever does for people like us
So why do we hold on to this self abuse?

Take limbs by limbs out, Till we are nothing but a mass of puddle laying on the floor. Why after lots and lots of trying we can't love ourselves? Why do we look at others for a nod of approval, or desiring validation? Why don't we believe that who we are can be worth being, too, no matter what the little voices in our heads say.

We go to bed crying, overwhelmed and wake up empty, drained and we beg others; we snap, weep and yell, just to feel anything, but there is nothing to be felt.

It is like screaming from underneath an ocean. You try and try and try but no voice reaches an ear, or, maybe the world has long gone deaf to others' wailing. This is not how you thought your life would be, but that is how it is, that is how you have made it.

And how you wish some nights someone would hold you and sing a lullaby that will suddenly make you wonder why, all of a sudden, is wind giving you caresses so soft. But you have to understand before that happens, you have to get up now, and sing yourself to sleep.

Because we will find what we reflect and you don't want to seem too clingy, you don't want to be the mat that everyone stomps on. Because, you are worth more. You are the sea, you are the hurricane and why should sea care for the castles made in sand? Everything external fades, and you know this all too well.

All your life you complain about the fleetingness of a moment but you are here to stay, how could you discard the thing that will stay with you throughout the life?

Radiate the love you always wanted to have. Try and try and make the trees envy of how you take care of yourself and gently let go of the parts that no longer aid.