An excerpt from a fairytale:

“You found what you needed from some token of love. Happiness lived at the end of bridges crossed and burned. You swim into an abyss of     oblivion and build a home in a sea of happily ever afters no one has dared to travel past.”

An excerpt from reality:

“What you needed, found you. You spend your days walking across broken bridges, mending what’s left of them and staring out at the horizon. Where the distant sun, ever so close, kisses your skin, and you are where you’re meant to be, manifesting the energy of healing.”

After being away from you so long, just standing in the same room as you feels like there is electricity binding us together, sparks flying as we pretend we haven’t seen the other. Tell me, in the moments when I drag my eyes away from you, do you look at me like you used to?!

a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy

~~~

the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none

~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”

“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”

“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word  wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life

“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
                                                         ­­ of the vaguest of dearly departed

skin is not the only mot shed,
                                                sloughing of woeful words”

“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”

When I first heard the phrase “crying in the shower”, I thought it was an over exaggeration. I did not understand why people always use it, does it make a difference? Why not just say “crying on my bed”, “at the dinner table”, or “in the garage”, what is so special about crying in the shower? Does it make things more dramatic?

I’ve never experienced it, I’ve never experienced it until today. It’s the 24th of December and I’m sitting inside my bath tub completely drenched, trying my best to piece together an explanation when my relatives finally figure out where I’ve been hiding. I think now I know what it feels like to cry in the shower.

It’s funny how sadness creeps up on you, it’s so random! Much like any other emotions that you feel; the mundane of day-to-day life where you can be eating, reading the newspaper, watching a series, replying to a text, walking your dog, petting your cat or even just making small talk while standing in a room full of people and it just, it hits you.

And it hurts. I don’t think there’s an appropriate adjective in the english dictionary that can describe it. I wish there was a way. I wish there was a way to deal with pain, with sorrow, with sadness, without losing yourself. As the 1975 puts it, “If I’m lost then how can I find myself?”

i must have wished for you
so hard and so often you
had no choice but to come true.

  
    — N O V A | w i s h e s

I've been writing about you;
Thinking about you;
But did your pen dance on the paper with the howl I made?
Did its ink ever spill words
for the pain I bleed?

Did I even cross your mind?

Did I even made your butterflies
go wild?

Did I?

She left me
yesterday
but love
had left us a
long time back.