the scent of sadness lingers over your lips as you whisper the word;
"Goodbye."
and as I'm trying to move foward,
while forcing the stream of tears flowing down my cheek to never end,
I can't seem to fight the force
that wants me to
give up and understand that your tears shall never fall upon my hands again.

you're being is a closed exhibit in a forgotten museum,
a place i will never be able to find no matter how far and wide I search the depths of the earth.

you are a foreign stranger,
just another face in the sea of humanity.

BUT you were once my universe,
you once showed me how love can truly exist.
you had showed and reflected hope onto my life.
you marked a footprint in my life,
a milestone.
your heart cared similar to a mother caring for her first infant child.

my heart had continued to beat because of you,
you had showed me strength
and you taught me to never give up.
so here is my promise to you,
I shall never forget your promise to me;
*just keep pushing , no matter how much weight the universe is placing on your shoulders.

I like to believe that I will live throughout every single one of my chapters, written or have yet to be written. But I will forever be scared of the reality that maybe, somewhere, at some point; I will run out of ink and inspiration for a chapter. I’m scared that I may never make it to the end of the last paragraph, the last sentence or the last word.

I hope there will come a time when I will let someone into my life, who will help me write my story, where both ours will be a collision of different words that make up the human beings that we are. I promise that I will look past your flaws but deeper into why I picked up your book in the first place. I will be your lover and never the one who kills but the one who will mend you together when broken. To the first one who meets one’s end, promise me that you will write my remaining words, and I, promise you too to continue for you.

n.j.

Some nights
I wake up at 4 am,
with the taste of smoke at the back of my throat

I swear to God,
you're still burning somewhere inside me.

I believe our lives are complied of a montage of moments. I believe some of these moments have infinite meaning and certain choice can influence the rest of your life forever.

I've wanted to write about us for as long as I can remember but I could never find the words that were quite right. Our love is not an epic star crossed lovers tale nor is it the will they won't they series that keeps you hooked. Our love is not extravagant, it is not the sort of thing best selling books and Hollywood films are made of. However it is meaningful. Our love is ours.

Maybe I'll never find the right words and my metaphors will forever be cliche but I will try anyways. I have to. You are simply one of the most incredible people I have ever met and I believe that more people should see you the way I do. You are perceived as ordinary but that couldn't be further from the truth. You find me when I am lost and your every breath is filled with life. You make me want to be better. I am. I am a better person with you.

And while we cannot always be together physically, we are usually separated by miles and miles, my heart, my soul, the very essence of my being is with you. You see me completely, all the gory, vulnerable, mad bits as well as the good. You know first hand how difficult I can be but you love me anyways. And you know what? I love who I am when I'm with you.

So that is why I'll keep on attempting to put what is ours into words. For you. I want you to know how amazing you are and how much I love every part of you, even the parts that sometimes drive me mad.

We might not have had love at first sight but let me tell you we don't need it. I fall in love with you more and more everyday. This love is ours.  Now where do I begin?

Resting on the window sill
I gaze into the darkness,
peeling at my thoughts,
inhaling the sweetness of the Summer air.
A purple lightning strikes the sky,
and the thunder whispers,
as the clouds break away.
The warm drops cleanse my skin,
and fill the air with the aroma of newly cut grass.
I count the stars with my journal in hand,
recording my deepest wishes.
And once I'm finished,
the words seem briskly blown away into the Heavens,
each attaching to a star.
I close my eyes
as the calm storm sings me to sleep.

(The page is torn on the left alignment)

...And then they would place their pistols beneath their chins and pull the trigger. I would see it as some cylindrical spatter of blood escaping from the tops of their heads, like over exaggerated gore from the adult movies. So what would happen next for them exactly? Blackness? No. That is still something. Perhaps just empty. No. Can't be. Empty has potential to be filled, rendering it not quite nothing. I suppose it would be like before you were born. Do you remember it?

"...There are miracles in the way their eyes linger, wishes in hands that are kept folded to still the trembling.

There is wonder in knowing that, someday, they will never have to let go, ever again.

This is what I fight for, this is what I've waited for, this is what gives me hope for the future.

This is what's meant to be.


...But late at night, when the bed that waits for me is empty, I fold wishes in my hands, and shed tears for what cannot be."

dreams of triumph
      yet still going
         unnoticed
        in wariness
          they clap
im not what they expected