Maybe my idea of beauty
            is different
    than yours
  Maybe my idea of perfection
            is not about what's less
       but about what's more
  Maybe my eyes can see through skin
     into the heart, soul and mind
              that's deep within
     Maybe, just maybe
             looking at what's inside
      is where we should all begin

Life upon this deaden world is extremely harsh.
It drains you leaving you feeling empty inside.
The pain physically, spiritually and emotionally.
Feels overwhelming hard to deal with at times.
The people in your life can be hateful as well.
Times are not going to get any better until he returns.
For only Christ can heal your pain and give you great flavor.
Only once he return for his people here on this planet.
Shall they start feeling life getting better for them only then.
There shall be rejoicing and great celebration at that time.
But when he defeat the evil then things shall be at their best.

You seem the kind of peril she wouldn't mind getting familiar with.

She wanted you to see how she had those fire in her eyes whenever she told you about her dreams, about her passion, about her fears that she wanted to conquer. She wanted you to whisper to her how much she meant to you, although she would never admit it.

To her you were a bright, massive star; capable of illuminating her entire world, yet having an unstable heart.

One day, you told her how you could name a hundred reasons why she was never like the others. and that you loved her. Just love her. You never knew how she kept on thinking about those words for days, because that is all she could do; think, but not believe. And you never knew, because she would never tell you.

Oh how she longed to brush her fingers through your hair. To hold hands with you just because. To share tight hugs that could go on forever. To spend late night to morning talks with you. She hopes for the day to come when all her daydreams become reality.

She could go on and on about these things, but then, there are certain things that, no matter how hard she yearned for, will never be.

The danger she never feared; the chaos she looked forward to; the ruin she expected.

That, dear, is you.

**

I still think of you every day.
The ghost of the kiss that haunts my lips,
recalls the words you used to say.

Please don’t tell me it was all a lie,
though the truth is never that hard to conceal.
It’s all gone now,
but I know what we had was real.

Missing someone is not  at all gives  hurt
But missing someone without knowing the fact
Is something  like killing oneself with that hurt..

You are not condemned
To the confines of life
Nor the sounds of being locked in
And hit by dirt
You do not belong
To the flowers they send
The wishes they write
Or the tree they plant in your name
You are not prisoner
To a shallow grave
And a shallower gravestone
Not even to the duties you left behind
You have not been claimed
By the years you will not see
The tears you cannot dry
Or the hugs you cannot return
You are not captive
To the sounds and words
That defined you
Or the way people shaped you
Because you are free from condemnation
From the clutch of sickness
Free to leave and wipe the tears
And hug the ones that hesitate
To throw the dirt over the years
You are free from prison,
From proclamation,
From captivity and condemnation
To help and to inspire
And to free others from a prison
Of grief.