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Hey there.
It's been awhile.
The ink dried out in the corner of your smile.
The pages got all wrinkled
like the edges of your eyes.
And it's been at least 4 years since I've seen blue skies.
But look at that there!
The pen is in bloom.
It's ink spilling out as the sun does at noon.
And I can't wait for you to sit there
in your rocking chair
and read Sunday's cartoon.
And you'll ask me what I've wrote
I'll give you a quick note
and we will spend the evening on the swing.
You'll drink your teas,
I'll watch the bees,
and we will spend our eternity in spring.
I know you are all cheering on for me. I'm glad to be back.
the rose dipped solid
wouldn't wilt
even if you begged it to

pick and pull the rest until they're stems

I thought yellow would shine eternal
I never had a favorite flower
The unmistakable hues of genuine -
Oh?
It died
Viktoriia May 18
a tragedy in miniature,
nothing but a puppet, being strung along.
when is a home no longer a home?
now that you're gone i might never know.
such an impossible creature,
and for a moment there i almost believed you
that we were gonna settle down and grow old.
now i'm the only one that's getting older.
making a note for the future;
it fades so quickly, like forgetting an old song.
your voice, your smell, your laugh -
now all of it's gone.
and i would willingly give up
the rest of my days,
filled by nothing but loneliness,
if it would give me another chance to hold you.
Viktoriia May 16
the world might end in the afternoon on an average tuesday,
anxiously re-reading a dozen messages without an answer.
when a broken photo frame becomes the last drop
and you find yourself unable to believe that superstitions are stupid
and the familiar ringing of the doorbell sounds like a death sentence.
despite the agony all there is to show is silent acceptance,
because their yesterday's sacrifice bought you another tomorrow
and you can only pray that in that moment they weren't alone.
although this emptiness inside of you feels like a death sentence,
the world ends every single day without anyone knowing.
Thomas Harvey May 16
She gives me a look likes it’s all okay
As to her it is just another day
She says we can still keep on being friends
As if these feelings would just end

Is it selfish to think I could not
My heart feels as if it’s been tired into a knot
Yet she smiles like she still cares
But to me it just doesn't feel fair

For I love her, but she must love another
And so, she looks at me as just a brother
Now I have no choice but to accept
Accept learning to live with reject

When she does find the one she wants
I hope that I can be a little more nonchalant
In my head it’s hard to compile
That at one point I was the one that made her smile
ZR Simon May 15
Middle of the night
Alone with my thoughts
treading water in a sea of darkness
All around me is silence
But inside, I can't make it stop.
I took a glimpse at an angel— so beautiful;
I took a gaze without giving it breath,
I couldn’t recall her name.

And oh, what a shame it was,
Not knowing what to speak, of an outwardly presence,
I relentlessly chased after an old dream,
Hoping for a hint of conclusion— a foreign illusion.

For in spirit and in truth, —
I watched the skies crack open; splitting wildly
My sights, between a longing & desire.

Desire: the great betrayer to an eye,
When what you see, isn’t what you get to own.
Owing to her gaze; upon such a beautiful architect,
But some time later, it all built up another phased regret.

Angels that leave you out of breath,
Whether passing out on their lap,
Or passing idly, on Death.
    Beauty, is all so terrifying.
E May 14
My Obim <3

Oh how I miss you dearly,

I miss your face,

I miss your smile,

I miss your laughter,

I miss your dial.

My Obim <3

2 years have passed and I just now can mourn your loss,

I miss your smell,

I miss our moments,

I miss our childish acts,

I miss our stories,

I miss our sinful ways,

We promised that we would grow old together

We would share our hearts forever.

Oh my Obim <3

How I miss you my love

And no, this is not a letter to the dead

This is the mourning of a friendship lost

We mourn the end of a boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, wife

But no one talks about the loss of a friend, the end of a soul tie.

We might never reconnect again

But maybe in another life, we would work out to be good friends or maybe even sisters till the very end.

I love you dearly

Goodbye, My Obim <3

When my mind began to cloud, I began thinking out loud.
Ash May 13
the void where you once stood,
out of sight, but i knew

from here, you lived only in whispers
in the same breath that escaped,
i heard it, echoed on the wind

from afar
i have never known grief like this. for all we quarreled, the years we spent without a word, i never thought that would be the last. but i remember the last time we joked well enough - go get ‘em in hell, T. i’ll see you there
Surely I’d ask; that do the stars not play witness to a love’s beauty:
the belief in  the power of love that runs deep, like the air
we rely on to survive.

It feels like a faith in the unseen forces that sustain us; we have faith in our connections— a testament to the unwavering trust we have, even when faced with the unknown.

Oh, how each passing day can either divide or bring us much closer; seemingly creating a somewhat perfect balance between us—  two halves of a whole, each complementing the other in the ways no else can.

Seems to be a task; navigating through the seasons of every new found relationship; the weight of both parties’ mistakes, all serves as a reminder of the lessons we’ve learnt. Or rather the reminder of our human side. For our present self in thought, faces the future with sometimes a renewed sense of hope, and a determination to cherish and protect that we’ve now built.  

Brick by brick; I lay the depth of my soul, as I yearn for that deeper understanding of the purpose behind any love. — Searching for meaning and clarity, so too, seeking for guidance from a higher power.

Still, I must quarrel with myself.

For the seconds you’d spend with a lover, are as fleeting as a shooting star across the night sky; effortlessly slipping away— quietly turning into the short minutes we try to weave together in the hopes of making it the story of our lives.

Sigh, another love lived, serves as another love that will eventually leave, — and so, another chapter in the story of one’s life.
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