It’s the worst at night
With ink-lit quietude as company
I feel the disconnect
And miss you
When I’m with others
With guards of delusion
The illusion schemes
And I only need myself
Or whatever phantasm I can attach to
Connecting with people is easy
You just get to know them
Disconnecting with people is hard
You don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings but the person is not good in your current life situation
Change is not bad
It just makes everything different
How do you tell a friend you need distance?
Nobody wants to hurt feelings
But also nobody knows how they would go on with their life when people you want to have a break with can’t leave
Nobody wants to be rude
But change isn’t always bad
Goodbyes are a part of life
Leaving is a part of life
Let people change
You might disconnect but never with the most important people of your life
You can fight for everything you want to achieve
Life is complicated
Don’t get distracted by the wrong people
Disconnection is just a goodbye
learning to be
once so perimetric
on the fringe
of all that grows within
we thus fall
much like Sarajevo Roses
in the lasting drawn out
places we made perish
of two integers
the way we love
is a method
of mixed results
It's hard to disconnect oneself
from the attachment of familiarity
one has built through the years.
Everything in college is overwhelmingly new. I found it difficult to adjust to another environment. New people. New place
I miss my friends. The memories. The laughters... I miss their company...
If only I can always be with them
But this is life. Life must go on. We have our own paths. Dreams and goals in life.
I once believed myself alone
because the world did not know me.
I now know I am alone
because I know the world.
They come in unannounced,
united, and uninvited,
demanding my attention
my hands and body are in pose with contention
at the fault of being self aware
I let these thoughts linger,
letting them leave their mark
streaks, smudges and smears
leaving when they please, only to soon return
Tears down my face,
Lord where is the grace?
A curse at times of the mindful
Writing about my first experience with meditation and the struggles that came
She left home with a flower in
her hair and her pink, light up
sneakers on her feet. She slouches
in the backseat. Her stare's fixed
on the splattered insect gliding
above the hills and barns and trees,
flying as fast as the freeway.
Her mother is behind the wheel.
The radio's on loud enough to
block the nasty thoughts.
And she is sobbing.
Its sad to think
That when we drifted apart
It was because you let me go
You stoped thinking about me
You stopped "wasting time"