I used to wonder
if I'd grow old lonely
because you speak so little.

I would sometimes
desperately yearn for your voice,
simply for the need of its presence in my ears.

But the more people I meet,
the more I grow to love your silence;
the more I grow to love who you were and are now.

We sometimes only lay and smile,
like little happy wizards reading minds,
as we gaze into each other's abstruse souls.

Silence is the reason
I loved you in the beginning,
then worried words got in the way.

I went a little crazy,
and blamed you for my tangled thoughts,
wishing I knew all the answers to everything; as if I could.

Soon I realized,
I was the cause of my own distress,
and you were still sitting there silent, waiting for me.

After some time,
our souls became one;
at least I would like to think so.

So don't speak.
Don't ruin it, and neither will I.
Let's live in this silence, together forever;
just knowing that we're in love.

You show me many things
But seldom show me yourself
You teach me to conquer every obstacle
But to be concur with myself
I am not contempt with mind
You persuade me to think past that
when I ask asked you for advice
You said listen to the wise man
He as a lot of it
The business part of God
Made us corporate

i think it's hard to be friends or lovers with a writer. here's why:

1) you have to be careful of what you say, because the writers mostly take every word of yours literally and try to find the meaning in it. say what you mean, and mean what you say.

2) you also have to be wary of your grammar. those people, whom you know as writers, are grammar nazis. if they don't correct you in speech, fret not; it has been done in their word-mazed minds.

3) they will rant and rant and rant, because written words are what cool them off without having them to speak aloud. curse words, words which carry a tune, words which burn into brains... hear them out. do not be lazy to read their rants if they trust you with it. (they could rant about you TO YOU in the end.)

4) this is the hardest part. just remember that they will write about you no matter who you are or what you've done (or maybe you haven't even done anything). these people will write about how they see you. and most of the time, those writings are not so favorable. if you do not want to (literally) end up in their bad books, beware. their words may not last in ink forever but embedded into the hearts of those who read them.

happy reading and living with a reader!

my dear dear  d e a r  boy.... .. . ..

her eyes are pretty
her smile is wide -- & white,
just like yours
she's tall, she's slim, and
she takes good photos of you on her instagram
her small brunette bun is annoying....................ly cute
her little legs & little arms too
i'm sure it looks like something out of a magazine
when they are wrapped around you...

another hip kid from some northeast city
little Connecticutie~
did she know about me?
does she know that you live right down the street?

she hid behind your shoulder
that's how i knew
that she is in love with you, too
& it feels like someone shoved a grenade down my esophagus
and i'm just  w a i t i n g  for it to ******* in a billion bits
so i can just get over this

and then all the dads will bring their little girlies
and all the ladies will raise their strawberry daiquiris
eyeing the loose shards of my dignity
hoping that they could somehow help with their jaded seniority
going,                                  "lesson number one:
                                     love is never  always fun."

Sh...
What's that whisper?
You didn't hear it?
No, only me.
It's just my soul
in the dark.

Wait...
Who's behind?
You don't feel that?
No, only me.
Just the ghost
of my shadow.

But wait...
If it speaks
and it walks,
should I be following
ignorance ahead
or the knowing soul behind?

All I know
Is that
Love has
   Already won.
Even if you can't see love in every moment,

Doesn't change the fact that love already won the battle.

So endure the hardship and ask forgiveness for your own short comings so that others may experience the love you know is true.

I am an idea thought up.
I am an idea forgotten.
I was a thought heard.
I am a thought  forgotten.
I am what you could’ve been.
I am the song of your heart.
I am a song unheard.
I am erased and forgotten.

Our brains kissed before our lips could,
My heart yearned before I understood,
We’d already spoken before we had chance to,
When we met, I was surrounded by you.