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R Jan 4
I just want to say some thank you(s), gratitude, to be able to meet such a wonderful and amazing person like you. Who could survive and is surviving, despite how ****** things being thrown in front of your face.

Thank you, for surviving. For living your life. For breathing. Your existence colors the huge bland empty part in my life, it becomes much more lively and wonderful.

Thank you, for trying. For doing so many things, for handling so many things, for the dedication you put in everything you're doing. The road we walk right now might be a little rough, but I believe the choices you make, followed by your immense passion and hard work, will lead you to somewhere beautiful. Somewhere gentle, somewhere kind, respectful, and that time you will heave a relief sigh, your hard work will be paid off, and the journey you walked had been done so incredibly well.

Thank you, for being so kind, despite how many times you're being misunderstood. Despite how many times the kindness didn't return, despite how many times you sacrifice yourself for others, for someone else's comfort, for someone else's ego, for someone else's feelings. It is not your obligation to make everyone's happy, or safe and sound, oftentimes you burry your struggles to listen to theirs. You don't have to, but you do it. You care about everyone's well being so much, and I hope you could do that to yourself too.

Thank you, for loving me. For taking care of me. For bringing the happiness state I thought I could've never had. For holding my pieces into one. For fighting your ego to let mine win. For always listening to my whines, discussing trivial things patiently with me, understanding my silence, understanding my inability to express how happy I am because of you when you do all of those so well.

Thank you for being the person you are today. Who's so hardworking, passionate, gentle, and kind. Someone who's unsure of everything yet still has the bravery to do what life gives him. Someone who's willing to learn and suffer, someone who's friends with risks, and willing to challenge his own capacity for growth.

My dear, love. Thank you for existing.
This world isn't a nice place, people aren't so kind to either, but we have each other. And I'll have your hands intertwine with mine, we will get there.

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
R Nov 2019
You remind me of shades of blue.

I used to think it's the one that the sky has, but it turned out to be more of the ocean shade.

Maybe I haven't told you why it is my favorite color, now I will. It's not because I often feel blue, or I often could grasp the meaning, it's because when I long for something soothing, I only have to lay my eyes on something that is blue.

It could be the sky, the ocean, the color of my favorite book note, the shade of my blanket, or the reflection I see when I wear my favorite shirt, or anything.

Then why does it have to be the ocean, especially when drowning is one of the things which makes me tremble in fear?

You are my ocean. To you, I'm willing to drown myself in your shades of blue.

The tip of your light blue, which shows me the appearance of what's inside, luring me to dive deeper.

I meet your darker shade of blue as I begin to know the waves of your emotions, your raging passion, slowly bringing out the surprises of your enigma and lead me the way to swim in your guidance until I fall in love with how your flow fully drench my skin.

I begin to understand how beautiful you are, to the extent I'm willing to hold my breath just so I can be in your hold a little longer.

And when I'm breathlessly in love in your arms, you show me the love language through the sky, how the blue of your whole being is up there, pulling me out of from where I thought I'd die loving you. And you didn't let me to.

You are my ocean, and in every each of your shades of blue, breathlessly I fall in love.
R Sep 2019
I used to think the cause of the loss of my writing ability is because I am happy, which will be highly doubtful, or I am empty, that I don't feel anything, leaving nothing to write, leaving the words soulless.

Now it has come to a realization that the cause of it is because; I don't let myself to feel.

I buried my sadness in silence, in nonexistent boxes of shadows and slowly, painfully, I'm getting used to it. To not acknowledging my feelings, to think they're *******, that my sadness is useless, and I shouldn't feel that way.

And when it gets too overwhelming, too suffocating, I don't know where to go. I ran out of boxes, they couldn't take it anymore. I don't know where to go, and when I try to pen the sadness down, the papers sound as if they're mad at me, as if they refuse to listen. No words coming out, it's left blankly and I thought it's because words will not do justice to the feelings I endure, turns out it's because I unknowingly **** my own healing.

As I'm in the process to have it back, most of it ends to no avail. I want to write again. I want to write again, for myself, for my own sanity, for you, for the world.
R Feb 2019
How ironic is it
to believe in forever
while living in a world that suffer
R Jan 2019
Please sugget me a book.
I'm tired of reading our old conversation.
R Sep 2018
Kyra is a painter, but she's colorblind.

She makes someone else's world colorful but hers is grey.

Whenever she draws in the middle of spring afternoon, she tends to whispers to the singing bird on her shoulder.

"For whom I draw still hasn't been decided, and I wish to meet my muse soon after the season's end."

Two days after spring.

She's being asked to attend her friend's rehearsal.

A pair of her brown eyes is glued to the pianist as his melody hits her right. His fingers gracefully dance in tuts, faster than anyone's breathe, but not so fast compared to Kyra's hand sketching him.

"I find my muse." She whispers in happiness. Gaze falls to the quick sketch on her hand.


She asks her friend about his name, eyes sparkles with love, so pure, so honest.

"His name is Will. He's special like you."

Her brows furrow in confusion as she skips a heartbeat.

"Special? Like me?"

"He's a pianist but he's deaf."
R May 2018
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.

I say the world will end in a rush.
The moment you vanish in dash.
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