are they sweet or bitter ?
every other month,
when my mind fills with worries and unease,
my lungs expand with fear not air,
my heart speeds,
and with a single backpack
i take a bus to the airport.
long ride listening to my comfort songs
is just a beginning to my little getaway.
(i already feel calm writing about this moment)
quick 30 mins wait at the gate, then
my reality you can wait for me at the airport
right where i left you,
because you deserve a break too.
see you in 5 days.
i'll meet you back at the airport.
how do i tint the world in this colour?
i love this.
this is what i want to live in.
i like my days here.
my heart is beating so fast i can hear it in my head.
this is it !
i’ve never felt more alive !
i’m breathing it and i see it !
where sorrowful low spirits cry
sanguine prays to the other side of the sky
the galaxy listens
maybe a little too overwhelmingly
the cold atmosphere holds many's outbursts
collecting agony and desires
one too many wishes
for the young stars to bear.
but listen to our ambition,
observe our devotion,
sympathise our situation.
scrutinise the inclination of our appetite.
it's a galactic duty for the baby stars,
not for too long.
because nobody likes waiting.
so create that miracle of ours and
the beauty of naivety as a kid
viewing the world as two-dimensional
the impeachable mind of declutter
so uncontaminated and guiltless
it's the brain still developing
it categories happiness under one umbrella
can't see what it shadows underneath
you will soon set your feet on the ground
and you'll meet face to face
with what the umbrella covers
but once you do
don't use the umbrella
catching a cold will be a pleasure
before a rope becomes completely cut
those delicate shreds of strings twirled to embrace in union
untwist and gradually untwine
ever so gradually
but know they will separate one day
and once it's cut it can't be undone
the rope itself can be taped or glued
for external fix
but the shreds of strings that absolute its primal state
thousands and thousands of tiniest fractions that bridge the rope
will forever struggle to find its individual continuation
will forever have lost its other half