You just sit there, together, share little nothings, and suddenly in the very next moment, a whole lot changes. You just sit still, absorbing everything they say, the honesty, the ferocity in their conviction, forces you to believe in every spoken word and sentence that draws you down the rabbit hole.

The thin line between knowing someone and thinking you know them enough just blurs away.

Have you ever felt a mystic human emotion? I surely have! There is always that diffidence that lurks somewhere deep within, it keeps you from looking straight into their eyes, the transparency- it surely kills. To be able to listen to them without holding any emotion, to hold nothing for them, no expectations, no reasons, no questions. It feels like an archive, where you can stow away all your thoughts and wonder about the uninhibited, free familiarities you share.

Crazy, I know, that is how everything sounds and just builds an atmospheres in that instance!

Everyone I have ever met has a story to share. But in the art of urban loneliness it never passes through you. You somehow just try and defend it by equating the situation and chaos of thoughts coursing through your nerves. There is an inexplicable rage and a need to turn things and construct the worst possible scenario in front of your eyes. Where and when these conversations occur they are too hard to take. I never feel the urge to listen to their side of the story, mostly. I just want to avoid any human contact and pretend that I am lost in my own dominion doing my own thing.
This may come from the fear of giving them admittance to my realm, or to come across like a bare human trying to deduce and find meaning in their stories, their hardships and struggles that make mine absolutely mundane and lacklustre.  But once in a while, you feel that feeling of the known. There strikes a conversation so hard not focus on, it’s different, where from once you actually listen. They play the good one, riding you in the palm of their hand and all you can do is see them.

There have been thousands of answers to why or how we feel what we do. May be it is an advanced form of attraction or infatuation, where your mind visualises things and you feel connected in terms of your expectations or experiences you share. Or maybe, your soul has connected to someone from another point in time, from another dimensions or say a parallel universe? (Queue some sci-fi music here!)

Another reason, your views and theirs match, your likings match, or maybe you unknowingly just share similar personalities. It gives meaning, it makes you feel like ‘you exist’. We always seek for more connections, more validations whilst looking to complete ourselves, and wait agonisingly for when our thoughts will be transformed to words that someone understands, comprehends and most importantly relates with.

Insecure and unappreciated, everything seems so overrated while you are ensconced in your cocoon till you find that connection and the minute they speak to you it all disappears. This is how I feel in the moment, trying to re-collect all the words, before I forget them in this fast-moving world. And If I ever want to talk about it, laugh on it or even cry about it, I hope I can still reach them, smile and look at the unchanged sheen in the eyes and feel content and hang on to the stories that they have gathered over time.

Till then, good bye, adios to the stories of the time when we were just strangers!

A letter to me.
Not the younger me,
or the older me,
but me.
The one fighting today.

It's a letter to my hands,
for all they have created,
many ideas that have flourished,
even this poem made elated.

It's a letter to my feet,
for all they have carried,
standing when I fall,
rising when I am buried.

Even a letter to my eyes or ears,
for everything they've seen or heard,
grateful for what has been blocked out,
creating room for more that is cured.

These key parts of me,
while I could thank them more,
help me through the day,
even when I am sore.

Just a letter to my body,
forgiveness I would wish,
for all the scars and shame,
that I will never miss.

Forgive me for not loving you,
the way I know I should,
one day you will know,
of all how much I could.

It's a letter to my mind,
a place that is haunted,
whispers that beg,
wishing to only be wanted.

I've cursed you daily,
wanting you to be better,
but never really thinking,
until I wrote this letter.

Yes you can be bad,
yes you can be sick,
but you are still my mind,
and that is something that will stick.

But sometimes you have thoughts,
that are wild and free,
creating ideas,
that can fill will glee.

So for that you are wanted,
for all I take for granted,
for staying by my side,
for not leaving me stranded.

As I get older,
and the more that I see,
on how I should not treat my body,
so pitifully.

Though it has its flaws,
a bad day,
a rough night,
I will always say,
that I need to treat it right.

So this is a letter to me,
the one living today,
to never forget,
why things are this way.

For my body is not perfect,
and neither is my mind,
but it always teaches me lessons,
on how to always be kind.

I just want
you to know
that you are
not worthless,
everyone has a
purpose in life,
no matter who you are.

Your love was bright, nebolous and tore through me,
I think about you, and what we could be,
But you chose to burn me to the ground,
I try and escape, your memories, your sound,
Something new might grow,
Something different, that which I did not know,
For now, I am stuck picking up what is left
I choose to burn my bridges,
Feel my imperfections, my cracks and ridges,
You, a paper fire, turned me to ash,
But I will rise, from the ground,
Unabashed.

Not all smiling people
have the greatest lives,
some of them have the hardest problems.
Crying people is not always the saddest,
sometimes their tears
are just tears of happines.
Suicidal thoughts is not always bad,
sometimes you just
want to runaway
to your problems
and have peace.

Don’t wear shoes
Wear lots of sunscreen
Remember to take the long way home
Go down the unbeaten path
Don’t beat around the bush
Live naturally

Smile more
Apologize less
Cook dinner with your mom
And help clean up after
Cover your friends’ coffee
Pay for gas money
Ask for forgiveness, not permission

i used to never believe genuine love was real.

beaten down, broken, time and time again.

until i saw you.

you were a light in the dark.

you were an angel extinguishing the flames of hell that surrounded me, that had almost killed me.

instead i now see a fire of passion, that passion burning in your beautiful brown eyes, golden flames igniting within the irises.

it’s something that has awakened me from my deep slumber of sorrow, replacing it with depths of joy.

your tanned skin, reminding me of a fresh cappuccino in the early morning, sunlight washing through the blinds that sit on the window; the foam that sits on top of the warm liquid, feeling soft against my lips as they touch.

the suppleness of your plump pink lips, resembling a juicy cherry being bitten into, tasting sweetness coat my tongue as i take in all the flavour.

you are the embodiment of a perfect summers day, freshly cut green grass, the smell of flowers blooming on every bush, the heat of the sun glistening onto my pale skin, making me feel at home.

you are an addiction in every positive way, one that i do not want to be rid of.

the existence of genuine love, i now believe.

Do good
Good will come to you
Positivity can only return times two

The rows of bluebells
Will still be there next spring
Urging you to get better

You were still there to pick them
And lay them on her casket
You were still there to watch
The years’ dance trickle by

She may have withered with
The bluebells that sad spring
But you’ll be there to see them
Come again
And again

You can blossom with them every spring
My dear,
You’re still alive