Life is better, not as an individual, but as a free spirit, to mingle with what we cannot see, to believe in what we always feel.

Still love.
Like it is there.
Like it is your last.
Like it is never an option.
Like suffering is a big blessing.
Like love is a always a distant memory.
Like it is a spirit bearing our empty hands.
Like it is a chance given to us down here.
Like it is a mask, taped onto our skin.
Like it is our skeletal foundation.
Like it is our clothed flesh.
Like it is our tears.
Like it is hope.
Like a smile.
Love still.

People can run on earth where land is stranded amongst seas. But we can all run for so long, and drowning was never an option.

The tides are harrowing as he talks, spilling from his lips the thunder of the heavens. We do not worry for what he says, or for how his eyes are hooded by the brooding clouds, how his fingers start to claw at the faint threads that bind by thighs, or his tongue that peeks out to wet his cracked lips. No, I say, we do not worry about him.  Because we are afraid of how we might be once the storm pulls us over.  We are the sailors afraid of his bout of rain.

I try my very best
yes I do
its all not for me
but for you

i wake up
thinking of seeing your smile
but it is never for me
even from a mile

I am just a shadow
the empty box in a stack
just waiting to be filled
waiting for you to come back

and still i manage to hurt
every single day
but if this is the price
then i will gladly pay

I heard a man say that he loved a girl,
and he waited for 28 years.
He longed for her day and night,
but he never shed a tear.

Several seasons came and go,
and inside him brew a storm.
The longer that they stayed apart,
the stronger he grew forlorn.

Till the day came for his love to come,
but he never saw it coming then,
that she never even loved him back,
and he loved till he never loved again.