those days that we were silent, when we didn't even glance at each other, were the worst. I guess they made me more anxious to speak to you on the days you graced me with your soft smile. on those days, I made sure to really look at you, so I'd never forget.

I had always thought of myself as an artist of some sort. That is, until I met you. It was only then that I learned what art is, where it comes from. When I met you, I only wanted to paint with the browns and oranges I saw in your eyes. I only wanted to write the words that fell from your lips. I only wanted to play the notes your voice guided me to. And when you left, I couldn't paint, couldn't write, couldn't play. I could only sing of my heartache, but even that wasn't art.  There's no beauty in sorrow.

I feel...different. A good different. Like...I'm growing, maybe. I don't know, we'll see.

his eyes were brown, but that doesn't do them any justice. they were glowing embers that made you want to huddle closer to protect the warmth they promise.

she was so engulfed in darkness
they mistook her for the night sky
and walked on
without sparing her
even a passing glance.

unfortunately, the absence of sadness isn't happiness, although we're often fooled into thinking it is.

telling someone
you're in love with them
is like handing them a knife
and giving them a choice;
put it down
and give me a chance,
or stab my heart
and walk away
like i never mattered

there's always talk about the calm before the storm, but I think there's an eeriness about the calm after it, too. it's almost as though nothing's happened at all. almost.

i guess we were all put here to achieve enlightenment and find inner peace or whatever, but maybe we stick around because we hope to accomplish more than that.

she couldn't stop wondering if she was upset because she got caught, or because she was angry at herself for being so inconsiderate. it was probably both.

and we danced all night, but it wasn't the smooth and light kind. we didn't exactly glide across the room, but I'll never forget the way your hands lingered on my shoulders, on my waist. it was like you would never let go, not even when the music stopped and the world went quiet.

she was constantly being silenced,
so it amazed her
when he told her
that he could
listen to her
speak
for hours.

our lives must be intertwined; i've tried to stay away from you so many times, but you always show up just when i think you're gone.

sure, maybe all suffering is temporary. but there's always something that causes suffering, isn't there? so...it really isn't all that temporary, is it? it's pretty consistent.

whenever she asked him a personal question, he got so wrapped up in his own answer that he never asked "what about you?" and that should've been a red flag.

isn't it funny how
we can be so good
at lifting others' spirits,
but when it comes to
our own,
we're the first ones
to put ourselves
down?