I am thinking of you.
Are you thinking too?
Every night before going to sleep.
I am dreaming you all time.
I am feeling you every part of my body.
I am finding you in the crowd,
My eyes want to see you
I can not prevent to do.
You are a passion for me,
But never ends in the end.
Knowing the impossibility
I am continuing to love you.
Even if I can't get to you.
And the way I am.
My life just consisted of you.
I love you so much,
I can not resist to do it.

Sitting in the dark, black silhouettes loom.
One of which dwells, familiar, barely seen.

Vast open space, barely lit, lies my doom
For those who wait for sustenance, span the gaps, unseen

The deepest fear, and least understood.
In the night, they wake, living as they should.
They've done nothing wrong,
But their presence lingers on
Even after they are gone.
Why cant i just be STRONG.

I'm TIRED of this fear of those whose darkness I intrude,
When all i want to do is be inside,
Instead I sit outside and stare, frozen in prelude
To the peace and comfort that i desire.

They don't know I'm here
And when they aren't i still know they are.
Around every tree
Spanning every yard.
When the sun is gone, how can i be sure?
That i wont become entangled in a fearful encounter.

I sleep outside those walls tonight

BE patient for you were once like him.
Young, joyous and dead inside. Let your frustrations melt into compassion for the journey he is embarking on. Your patience is a gift, hard earned , from toiling the same fields he has yet to sow. His wisdom is in it’s nubile stages where your compassion may water those seeds no end.

Love is your guide, is love not your guide?

Laughter is your superpower , is laughter not your superpower?

Fun is the cosmos, is it not Fun?

Grief is real , so let it through -

Least it turns to anger and eats you whilst you are still living....
on   and on   and on

Be patient for you were once like him.
Be patient for you are not him, he is not you.

Life doesn't always work on the currency of hope.

Be patient for the same fields you have yet to sow
ones you don't even know,
already bloom and fruit, seed and disperse
over on his land called a body.

You are a branched, crooked tree,
and this is the way we exist,
when we are ourselves.

Unknowable until the moment,
powerful beyond our dreaming,

bring yourself back in,
to the land that is your eyeballs and knees,

soft
and slow
and gentle.

I am tired
All you get's
Three little
Syllables

And I'll tell
Tell you now
That they aren't
"I love you. "