What is love ?
"A strong feeling of affection."
Is that all it mean to you??
O poor Oxford you miserably fail!!!!
Its not a mere logical definition,
Its a exalted experience..
Not about begging and expecting,
But extension of warmth form within,
Dissolving ego making one bowdown...
Your pride no more chokes you,
Instead you love everything around..
That which makes you intoxicated when higherself seeks supreme self.. Thy hunger of incompleteness is lost,
Its a different dimension that reunites you with the cosmic scape..
Its a transformation to conscious sensitive being..
I think of him when its raining and the weather is gloomy and the clouds come in the surround me just like he did for a short, short while.
I imagine he is sitting somewhere in New York right now drinking some awful Gin and Tonic drink , writing something about some girl in a bar.
Or he's walking with his jacket high up over his neck day dreaming of his long lost Juliet or maybe he's scheming something more like Macbeth.
I like to think he thinks of me from time to time, the girl he sent poems to on Valentines Day, the girl he talked about loving the ocean more than life.
I know it's a bit narcissistic and a bit conceited but I like to think he know's I think of him from time to time.
When La Vie En Rose comes on and when I'm walking down the freshly rained on streets humming a tune.
When I am alone in my room contemplating how I couldn't make things work with good people or when I re read those poems I keep hidden away in my closet.
I imagine he's sitting in New York at some trendy, dive bar, making friends with the bartender telling stories about his life.
I imagine he's writing something about a girl he's currently in love with and the features that makes him swoon because one day he will give those poems to her for Valentines day as well.
I imagine that the day he finds the Juliet to his Romeo- he won't need to think of the girl whose too far away and in love with the ocean anymore.
t h o u g h t l e s s
i wonder if my brain doesn't know
what to think, or if it did
i wouldn't want it to.
thoughtlessness is just the veil we cover ourselves with
when you know the thought is something not needed to be said.
but some others aren't so concerned.
she curled her lips
at the expense of others;
smiled when our eyes met.
and for the 1000th time,
i was thoughtless.
liars, calm your tongues!
i wanted to explain
how discontent and irreparable i felt
from the words falling out of that woman's mouth.
it dripped, settled, and rooted itself in my heart,
missing the deep moat built to keep them out.
so i rebuilt it.
and i thought of all the ways
to keep it hidden.
t h o u g h t f u l
of gripping emotions
and little time,
i am thoughtful of you.
of connect the dots puzzles
found in old restaurants as kids,
we are the dots right next to each other
ready to fill in something grander.
and i am thoughtful of you.
of roots planted
in me by you,
or in you by me,
i felt connected
and rushed to say:
"of all places i'd want to be planted,
it'd be here."
of words unsaid, we might be setting ourselves up to be
star-crossed lovers, up high; harness detached, to be dropped.
but all this month i've been digging, and last night
i saw the first sparkle of gold, staring back at me
with your smile i never want to forget.
this smile not out of deception,
but adoration. comfort. belonging.
and i am thoughtful of you.
of pages read and words said,
under moonlight or incandescent bright home;
wherever we might be, i am thoughtful
of all you've done.
another day, yellow in essence
another out, black as my back turns
of those car rides up north
to fill in the rest of the dots,
i am thoughtful
of where you will be.
in this maze-like city
for the first time, i won't feel lost
for i have somewhere to be,
and you to find.
of lightly feathered emotions
and the realization we have
all the time in the world,
i am thoughtful of you.
Sometimes I wonder if my existence is at all valid,
I remember sitting on the bathroom floor at school with my then best friend and staring at the tile that surrounded us.
I thought about all the kids before us who have walked on this tile, escaping responsibilities, escaping teachers.
I thought about how absolutely insignificant that moment in time was,
how my plaid skirt and that unforgiving burgundy polo would later on refuse to bear witness to the things said and heard in that bathroom.
The mindlessly boring and insensitive ramblings of two teenage girls sulking on a bathroom floor made no ripple in the atmosphere.
The moment and the memory were gone as soon as they left.
If this trail of lost friendships and missed opportunities for significant bonds has taught me anything,
it’s that everything falls apart one way or another.
A barn owl flies past my window,
With something on his mind.
Is it a work or family issue?
Or a twig he cannot find?
The paperboy lingers at my door,
No older than five.
Does he wish he was playing with friends?
Or that his parents were still alive?
A weeping girl leans against my fence,
Contemplating deceit and lies?
Has she run away from home?
Or is his violence the reason for her cries?
I wait, confused, alone,
Letting every person be.
I can try and see right through them,
But will they see through me?
I miss you.
I miss how we were.
I miss those foggy mornings
Ventured into by window wipers
I miss those quiet walks
Picking up pebbles
From the side of the road
Hearing your loud voice
Lifting my soft one
I miss it all
The sky and its whitish grey
Things never stay.