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"iubesc" poems
Te iubesc mai mult decât știi Si oriunde vom fi In munți sau in nori Te ador pana mor
0
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
Gânduri
And when puddles ripple from the slightest touch of a raindrop that has fallen from the overcast sky, and the pine needles droop from the weight of water as if the world was equivalent to one hundred pound cinder blocks, please remember that somewhere within the rolling Catskills, your palace still sits. The aroma of blended spices will swallow the surrounding oxygen it feeds on, mixing together to find combination, to form a perfect harmony, before finally sprinting up the chimney to dance in the air, as if it were sending out a distress signal, leading you home. Remember that after the katalox clicks tight, and your shoes sleep on the mat, all that will really matter are the lessons of kindergarten. To be kind to one another and share, to know when you need to say sorry, to love and care for each other. However, some of the easiest lessons are the hardest to show. So one thing that I have come to teach myself is that sometimes the best apologies are those that taste like love. So, if I were to become that block of dry ice that burns you even with the most gentle touch, tell me. I will invite you to dine at the table, and I will melt with the heat of the stove and pray that you see not just a meal but a feast baked in my apologies and garnished with all the love that I don’t know how to physically express. The type that you can feel rush down your throat, racing through your veins to warm everything from the roots of your hair to the tip of your toe. So, if I haven't said it enough times,  I want you to know: quiero amarte, pentru ca te iubesc, and in every language ever created, I need you to know that I love you. And thus it is this love that has created something much more than just a diverse palate, it is something that has created it’s own embrace. One that humans can’t provide.
0
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 10:49 AM UTC
mellifluous love.
And when puddles ripple from the slightest touch of a raindrop that has fallen from the overcast sky, and the pine needles droop from the weight of water as if the world was equivalent to one hundred pound cinder blocks, please remember that somewhere within the rolling Catskills, your palace still sits. The aroma of blended spices will swallow the surrounding oxygen it feeds on, mixing together to find combination, to form a perfect harmony, before finally sprinting up the chimney to dance in the air, as if it were sending out a distress signal, leading you home. Remember that after the katalox clicks tight, and your shoes sleep on the mat, all that will really matter are the lessons of kindergarten. To be kind to one another and share, to know when you need to say sorry, to love and care for each other. However, some of the easiest lessons are the hardest to show. So one thing that I have come to teach myself is that sometimes the best apologies are those that taste like love. So, if I were to become that block of dry ice that burns you even with the most gentle touch, tell me. I will invite you to dine at the table, and I will melt with the heat of the stove and pray that you see not just a meal but a feast baked in my apologies and garnished with all the love that I don’t know how to physically express. The type that you can feel rush down your throat, racing through your veins to warm everything from the roots of your hair to the tip of your toe. So, if I haven't said it enough times,  I want you to know: quiero amarte, pentru ca te iubesc, and in every language ever created, I need you to know that I love you. And thus it is this love that has created something much more than just a diverse palate, it is something that has created it’s own embrace. One that humans can’t provide.
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1
ochii mei, o graniță o frontieră de nepăşit. oasele ce-i țin încapsulați ies afară proeminența lor a ispășit, sentința unui orb,neintenționat. ce n-am văzut sare să muște, acum ochii zvâcnesc sub pleoape închise. ochii mei sunt viața ce am devorat. te văd și când dorm simt *** am învolburat marea ce mi-o port în vene. te văd în amintiri în care nu exiști, încep să-mi propun dileme. că ai fi existat din totdeauna, că undeva, prinsă-n retină, te-am ținut în amar întuneric și dulce lumină. când irisul migrează sub pleoapă, în vis e un semn că încă exiști, că în mine încă este destulă viață, că iubesc și am iubit. ochii mei, un pact cu actul de a trăi o simplă strângere de mână, nimic mai mult de văd sau nu, respir nimic mai puțin. ochii mei ofranda unei venerări veșnice a unui Dumnezeu ce încă se ascunde de mine.
0
Jul 19, 2022
Jul 19, 2022 at 5:14 PM UTC
citești, nu?
solitudine poate că tu știi mai bine *** mă simt. poate că nu vei știi vreodată. îmi rumegă creierul niște poze, niște intenții, niște gânduri o duceam mai bine fără. 12 ani de școală formativă care m-a îndrumat să devin o larvă. sunt doar un copil veșnic nemulțumit, o să treacă, nu ? mă gândesc la cuvântul "unrequited" de două săptămâni cred că ești tu. însemnătăți infinite și totuși o fi al iubirii o fi restul rămas de la magazin când dau 30 de lei pe țigări o fi creanga ruptă din cireș sau dud când îți venea uber-ul cam acru de n-aș avea atâta furie aș zice că nu te-am iubit aș zice că iubesc amarnic. n-aș mai zice nimic. mă ustură ochii m-au luat în brațe străinii.
0
Apr 16, 2022
Apr 16, 2022 at 4:39 AM UTC
scrisoare 8