Objectified manifest's dimensional delineations are totally tangential to trajectory extant.  Infinite possibility's exponentially extemporaneous eidetic prospectus perpetrates incorporeity ideology's perfectible ontology.  It's sheer omnificent ubiquity.   Manumission's vicarious recalcitrance to epistemological entelechy's maieutic had an exogamous homogeny with spatiotemporal telemetry's exigence.  The basic fecundity of cosmic continuum's radix repartee's mesomerism becomes corporeally preternatural's impetus intrigue to intuitional intrepid. 
       Livid lucid lambent loquacious emanations that presage synergy's retrospectively retroactive to nuance fulgurous fulham's fulcrum.  Cognizance categorical imperative's cognitive, clairaudience clairvoyance, omniscient omnipotent omnipresence.  Unary's unbridled aorist actuator's ethology's entelechy.  Zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguities to demagoguery.  Hegira to Xanadu ne plus ultra exodus.  Elan Vital's apotheosis.  Hectic duty deontological probity.  Noumenal sentience's irrefragably inevitable semantics.  Pandemically phatic futurity fatidics to kitsch kithe.  Chicanery dynamism's fealty! 

I'm sorry Melan but I don't believe that we must lose track of our corporeal being's identity to experience the true essence of love.  We should enhance each other's  cognizance constituency.

It's terrible
No words said
Yet your eyes yell
Pinching aroma embed
Oh, well
I wanna be more innocent
To make your heart discontent

The flowers grow. Your garden is there. I beg you to grow like I always have. This time it's a little bit different. A halo of black around your face, I think I'm losing consciousness. I remind you my body can't do it anymore. I'm crying, I think we're done. You hand me the plastic bottle, to water me before the flowers. You step outside, you tell me the night is cool. The wind whispers, the petals dance. There's a watermelon, you tell me. It's growing.
Your garden is there. And the flowers, under the moon, they grow.

What the hell does that mean?
When does someone become an adult?
When they turn 18? 21?
Or does age even matter?
Maybe it’s more about what someone does.
How much someone accomplishes.
What makes someone an adult?
Driving?
Moving out of your parents house?
Getting an education?
Losing their virginity?
Having a full time job?
Making money?
Marriage? Children?
What if I haven’t accomplished any of these?
What does that make me?
All I know is that I’m 25
and still feel like a ******* child.

Aghast was the feeling within,
the moment I heard saying,
"The grudge in me never ceases,
If I look at you, it upsurges."
What was that? Hatred or Jealousy?

Together we grew,
Together we played,
Together we enjoyed,
But she was loved more.
What was that? The age or Comparison?

Appreciated for her appearance,
Admired for the best smile,
Pampered for the sweet talks,
Gradually grew the inner bitterness unaware,
Igniting in her, the spark of arrogance uncompared.
As I was placed ever in contradiction.
What was that? Seed of praise or despise?

The child in us possessed the love,
while in the name of maturity the gap stretched,
The silence took deep breaths
Between each conversation
We, the alike thinkers
Now parted with difference.
The daughters of two sisters,
Misunderstanding cultivated the distress.
What was that? Distance or Belief?

The question still perplexed
Whose fault was that?
The childhood innocence ripped with arrogance?
Or
The comparison that planted the vengeance?
But ultimately, it is the misconception established with pride.

Now after these many years,
the love in me for her never faded
but grew more when we by chance interacted.
What was that? The pure love or move on?

Having the belief that our thoughts were alike,
My heart ceased not to pour my inner feelings,
As my childhood pal, my sister, my twin.
But still the ignorance in me continued to control,
My maturity to understand the completely changed person.
It took sometime to get in my senses
that her eyes looked hither and thither
with lies unrelated,
and conversations proposed,
not to share but to grasp
whenever connected virtually.
What was that? A changed self or Gossip Monger?

The vengeance inside gradually
turned to revengeful remorse.
And the love had turned to blame,
With pierce striken words she poked
Of accusations and falsehoods,
But none seemed to disturb me.
What was that? Mellow in me or Her immaturity?

With composed tone, I did stand for me,
confidently, a new me,
neither raised my voice,
nor reacted losing my poise,
but assured that in her life,
"Never could you forget to remember me and never, remember to forget me."
What was that?
A blessing from a mellowed soul.

————————————————

Memories aren't what they used to be.
A sunny spin on what happened to me
Hid the truth of pain
From which there was no gain
Other than the mastery of denial
That kept me going for a while
Until delayed maturity helped me realise
That we all work so hard to idealise
Those excitingly messy parts of life
That cut a thousand painless cuts.

Purgatory feels like...
A dance with the devil who wears my lovers face. It feels like a disregarded boiling tea kettle of our responsibilities that is ready to burst. You hand it back to me as if it were an unwanted gift, making promises with fingers crossed in attempt to silence me. You force it into my arms and my arms alone as you are shaking your head in disapproval.  Selfish snakes have stolen your once sweet tongue, now sour, as you ignore the fact that I already bare the weight of the world which clings onto my shoulders. Animosity swells inside me as two lives crash and burn. You walk away disconnected from it all, continuing on in your child-like life in a cusioned bubble of ignorant bliss. I am swollowed by quicksand inside this burning fictional house we built - standing here, paralyzed, mouth sunk open in disbelief. As you walk away...

Even before our first date
You make sure we have The Conversation  
Heaven forbid I should mistake you for a man of honor
That I should have any expectation....
That you know how to treat me
As a friend .....or a lover
As a woman of substance
A lady not a *****


Your immaturity doesn’t surprise me
But until that moment that you showed your hand
I was willing to suspend my disbelief
To give you the benefit of the doubt
To let you set the bar higher
But you succeeded in lowering my expectations
Even further

As the screen flashes, you can't reply in this conversation
Would this be your final decision?

North to South, West to East
So many things I've missed

You've changed a lot and so, I am
I wanted you back — but ****!

How if you left me in pieces
I don't really know how to fill up those spaces
The gap and distance between the two of us
Are this movie we're trying to produce have to end so fast?

You took me to the wonders of this world
You made feel special with your hands to hold
But in return, I made you feel bad
I made you sad and I am so sorry about that

To be honest, I don't deserve your love
I don't deserve to be with you, with all your kisses and hugs

I'm imperfect as well as my fingers while yours fits perfectly
Your message is the only thing is want to see
I'll be waiting no matter how long it would be
I'm hoping you still love me

She is waiting...
I'm waiting