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tea by
the sea,
I travel
I close my
eyes, and
the soft
waves of
the pearls
of reverie,ย ย 
I will
as I have
I forget
the dew
falling from
this heart
of mine,
and heal.
Sometimes I still wake up at night.
To my mid-day terrors.
And my room always feels empty.
My eyes fall off back into time.

I'd always hear you say
That we'd be better off
But who are you to say so
When you're not here anymore.

And I wake up in the after glow
Of the sun from my midnight terrors
This place is just too much for me.
I'd rather not stop to look and see.

And I remember that you'd always say
Nothing would last that long
But how could you tell me that
When you've been gone for far too long.

When I dive back to the sea of dreams
I close my eyes and can't help but think
You were right all along
But I can't tell you that anymore.

And yet as I drift off into the evening sky
Your voice is still as clear as it was that time.
And I wish that I could have this back
Your kind words and the hope you'd bring.

And all the parts I lost that you took from me.

Ahahaha ๐Ÿง
ShininGale Apr 27
It was going smoothly, but suddenly there's a rock.
Good end just yet.
Had a nice talk with my youngest sister and all is well until that one **** thag made me fall. But in the end glory to God, there's more joy today as I enjoy fellowship with good people. All evil and hardship is nothing compared to what good and kind has come.
Emma Apr 24
The way I have dealt with my traumas
Has varied.
They have moved as swiftly
As the seasons change,
And have always adapted to the current climate in which I live.

For a short while, I could pretend as though
Nothing happened.
I could pretend as though my pain was as
Invisible as their ability to love me,
And that I was as unaffected as
An old oak that has weathered storms past.

Then came my acceptance, and my fight.
I fought.
To be seen, and heard, and believed.
But alas, this was not to be.
It was then I learned, that sometimes silence is what is needed
To weather a great storm.

Then came the talking.
With endless cups of coffee,
And whistles that glowed in the dark,
I learned what it truly meant to share my pain
With one that would not tell my secrets.
Who could not tell of the demons dancing throughout my head.
To truly learn that trust can
Also weather a great storm.

Finally, has come nothingness.
I try, desperately to forget the remaining threads that
Tether me to my memories,
Even when I still canโ€™t sleep with my back away from a wall.
It is not a time I wouldnโ€™t be keen to forget.
There is no storm worth remembering to weather.

There is no storm worth remembering.
To everyone unseen, or seen. Believed, or not believed. Silent, or not silenced.
There are those who would say
That grief is love
Transcending time and space
Yet my love, my grief
Seem to coexist in a state of turmoil
Each writhing over the other
In a constant bid to be felt
Love digs holes in my heart
In which to live
Grief buries it
Stomps the seeds
Deep into earthen heart
Tears play a lament in the soil
Yet love sprouts
Finds its way back to the light
Dazzles grief with golden petals
Holds it with hands of leaves
Shares in the sorrows
Of that not yet lost
They are one

Grief and love are the two feelings that weigh the heaviest on my mind, at all times. Sort of like walking through a fog, towards a light that never goes out, but only gets farther away.
46n8 Apr 15
Most people have had a moment where they are just living their life, and then suddenly their nose picks up on something and they are brought back in time. You walk into a restaurant and a smell takes you back to being a child on Christmas morning in your grandmas kitchen. Maybe you go to a new friends house and their hand soap brings you back to moments that you haven't thought of in years.
ย ย ย ย This is such a strong phenomenon that most people can give you an example of, and it's very interesting. Scientists believe that this is such, because the parts of the brain related to memory, and emotional memories specifically, are directly connected to the parts that decipher our olfactory senses. These associative memories are often very vivid and visceral, because the connections are so strong and direct within the brain.
ย ย  I have burned every candle we bought together down to the end, partially because I want to forget you, and partially because I'd do anything to be taken back in time to the way things were for just a second.
ย ย Its actually been weeks since I threw the last one out. If you're wondering, it didn't work. I wasn't brought back to better times. But as the last breath of life burned from the wick in the cinnamon apple candle you loved, I smiled.
ย ย  Its time for me to buy new candles, and I am so excited.
To many future memories.
Does benches and desks from our classroomย ย yearn for markings made by us?โœ๏ธ
does our barely black board craves the names of talkative children?๐Ÿ‘ฉโ€๐Ÿซ
does dustbin desperately desire to get hit by crumbled paper *****?๐Ÿ—‘๏ธ
will the air miss the scent of love- letter paper-planes??๐Ÿ“„โœˆ
I really wonder whether our school , verandah , canteen , play ground , security , misses us as much as we do??

I'm about to leave school and school days... within just months..
Missing my old good days๐Ÿ˜ขโ™ฅ๏ธ
Memories bring back memories bring back you ๐Ÿ˜™๐ŸŽถ๐ŸŽต
Sharon Talbot Apr 10
Before hearing about your death
I began a novel inspired by you
and your struggle with the truth--
The truth of who you were,
what you wanted of life and of me.
And it became a journey
into the past, into a life
that had happened before
we met, decades ago,
and after we parted for good,
I wove a new life out of remnants,
of things I knew or just supposed.
And like a good researcher,
I told of your parents' failings,
the darker side of love.
Of your grandmother and friends,
and even your cousin who
brought you to me,
Luring you out of the homogeneous crowd
and into our perfect valley--
"the land of spires and dreams".
I even spoke warmly of our artless love
and our drifting apart like ghost ships.
After our second parting,
when you left the mortal coil,
I tried not to reminisce about us,
for the story was yours, not mine,
But I fear that a mirror kept
cropping up behind me and
around corners, erasing mystery.
Narcissus caught me time and again.
Even so, I created times for you
that I had never seen or heard.
I have you swimming off La Jolla,
traipsing on mountain paths
in the wilds of British Columbia,
or arguing with your wife
in that mansion you dreamed of.
I invented a girl you would like
and two kids who loved you
in spite of everything.
Your memories of me became
less urgent, locked in a chess box,
in songs or on film, hidden away.
I analyzed your youth, your vanity,
lust, boredom, mistakes and age.
And when it came time for you
to make a decision: to stay or go
again, either west or east,
I stopped and looked over your life,
rolled out flat, like the American plain
from western crags to eastern city
and like a broken record,
the choice shuttled back and forth,
not letting me decide for you.
Glancing at a photo
of your childhood home,
I realized at last,
not that you had died too soon,
but that I really never knew you.
I know youโ€™re
waiting for my text
to reopen our
paradise door.
And if I do,
you know iโ€™ll sink deeper,
stuck in love,
with your soul more.
maybe youโ€™re worth the risk
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