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some concretes break,
for a wildflower to thrive.

IA
01.15.21. | there's beauty in the mundane. there's beauty in the broken places.
a man appeared in my dream last night;
a kind soul and his features were clear,
a fragile heart tugged, i know i'm not his dear
i woke up, wanting to hold him tight.

IA
01.14.21. | it's a strange wonder.
i walked into a place named 'love';
while i was young, naïve, and recklessly filled with wonder,
"heart is still fragile but let her in to learn", a voice said.

i stood in the middle, a little lost
"how did you know how to love?" i asked a passerby,
"nobody does, they just do", answered the creature,
and so i ventured the corners for a long time at watch.

"maybe we could venture it out together,"
young soul, those words made my heart flutter
like serendipity, it made living worthy and better
time flew with no end in sight to ponder;

and i believed all love was good,
but wrong ones end for good
"you love a little too much," was the reason
but is there ever too much or a boundary of enough,
for lovers to strangers is a miserable transition

"some people have to grow apart,"
and so i picked the shattered fragments part by part,
"i never knew young love has an inevitable end,
all i did was love, but here i am now, hell-bent."

"there's a sign at the front door most people ignore;
'right time, right love, before the right person',
but everyone recklessly walks right through, looking so sure,
thinking love is all good until the wrong kind turn them into fractions."

IA
01.14.21.| it's very random of me to begin again the efmh (excerpts from my head, echoes from my heart) writing series. looking forward to memories captured through writing.
these are the nights, the late hours
relentlessly dripping into flawed poetries
pondering about love and scratching old scars.

IA ☕
what would it be like if we run the world?

all love, all chaos, all mess of fragmented thoughts & emotions
contained in an individual entity; all moving in a unified direction.

IA ☕
01.14.21. | "spill out your thoughts."
Everytime I close my eyes,
I see my world burning down.
There's this fire behind my eyelids
that the tears can't put out.
most poets seem to be too drunk in love,
vomiting out words as their heart throbbed

while i was one who stayed sober,
after a few bad hangovers;
writing as i clutch a bottle of wine to cope,
maybe next time, i'll pour it onto a glass of hope.

IA ☕
01.13.21. | not really one for drinking but i hope i got the message right.
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