There are certain memories in life that you can not count, but that you cherish and remember. That one number you sustain and uphold to the upmost of importance. Those thoughts you write, the images you draw that make no sense - yet unconsciously that sense lost, tis found in millions of little waves hidden within you’re throbbing heart. You linger upon those moments of insecurity, and want - yet not knowing what but intentionally thinking about them. It is that unknown man is afraid of, yet wants the attention of finding. It is that fear of loneliness that people avoid, yet long for it's grasping. Thine question still persists in mind, why art thine heart so kind yet consists of ones foolishness and pride.

There’s a certain beauty in a woman who assures her beauty, who believes in herself and contains her assurance. A woman who doesn’t want to be someone else, yet who wants to do better not be better. A woman who invites you in - helps you surpass your fears of uncertainties. She sings along in delight and joy; living, loving, running along the rivers of natures gift. Plainly a woman with a past, an unknown future who she is not afraid of, but looking forward to reach it. A woman who isn’t afraid of getting old, who is gaining knowledge and strength daily. The past is something she learns from, the present is her best friend and the future yearns for her substance.
This -  Is a Real woman.

Memories of the walks, enjoying hot dogs and sugared lemonade in the parks
Now a closet, an empty one, an empty house and heart lives on,
Shattered memories of circus fairs and tram cards played -
Lest the joy of salty tears slip of my face and onto the black, cemented ground.

‘oh, how dark tis the air I breath, heavy, a smothered breath it is.
The remains of those past, not yet investing in the calling of his that, and that his.
Leave me, until a later date, another time when dusk and dawn shall meet.
‘Till the sun ripens, arises emerald green, with a smile upon its face and five lines beside it, encircling it
‘Till death does part of me this body, that I may also - leave this earth.
‘Till the ground paints itself with gold, with biblical prophecies embroidered in that ground.  

This journey, once named life now carved, engraved in stone abiding fates decisions -
as if thou life consists merely of one's destiny. As if life, my life tis thought of, precisely.
Possibly, just perhaps, maybe it is.