There is no comfort, no regularity in going after the spectacular again and again and again. There is always a feeling, hypnotic even, enough to making me want to strive for that spectacular something with no knowledge of what it actually is. Tiring? It can be. Like you’re always moving and walking and yes, running, to somewhere and that somewhere just seems like both a step and miles away, altogether. And you think, how am I to know? There is no guide, not even a friend. Just you and this screaming sensation, like a promise telling you you’ll reach there, that somewhere. A promise you make unknowingly and break just as soon but keep coming back to, knowing you were meant to. Believing something for a somewhere. Blinded so boldly, I proclaim it my passion.
The life of roamer, craver for the creative.
Endless effort and bliss.
how lone is long-gone fame?
for you said you were popular
years after being popular
was no longer popular.
it’s alright though, you
accept now, inner peace,
perhaps, would have been
a better substitute.
how lone was long-gone fame?
and how much lacking, still.
(photos from Tumblr)
roses from afar,
roses no more.
people like thorns,
(photo from Tumblr)
Better a cruel truth than a comfortable delusion.
― Edward Abbey
perhaps uncertainty is not so foreign after all
and we remain determined in proposing
that you and I reside in a place far more
orderly but look around to see the crowds,
a messed-up mass of people voicing this
confusion to sound all normal, like lying
to ourselves has become so supremely
human that you and I abide to those who
rise above others
proclaim beyond measure:
“we’ve got it all figured out.”
oh we, practitioners of delusion,
have perfected our methods, at last.
p.s. featured image is the
japanese symbol for ‘truth’
prompt: “by the light of the moon”
by the light of the moon
who is to say you are not as bright as it?
who is to know you as you; moored
by the echoes of his or her or their
by the light of the moon
you come and go.
but who is to bear your
here, there; where are you now?
All was lost when you would not be found
We are the outcomes of those hopeful tales
Hope was lost when you could not be around.
here, there; where will I go now?
(p.s. school assessments = infrequent blogging :'( )
The best of surprises are people.
When you are given a reason not to despair for they’re there to be around you, now and perhaps for how ever long forever lasts. You are known by them and together, you, all of you, are as though no other. As if the word “belong” could only be defined on that day, when you and them, defined what it meant to be inseparable. Remember how the world seemed to fit together like there was no need for you to go on any longer, not without your desires, held in your hands and then their hands, mending you, but really just mending each other.
Such palms of such content people.
Nothing could make this any better.
But who knew nothing was all you’d be left with.
The worst of surprises are people.
Maybe bravery isn’t even bravery,
it’s these foolish thoughts meant to stray you
from the path of a “satisfying” (uneventful) life.
And suddenly you’re off your feet and
the ground seems to be shrinking.
Perhaps flying isn’t really flying,
but worries being set free.
“The sky is grander than it seems from the ground.”
It’s expanding but it’s also somehow only just around you?
Oh, how your eyes widen and the awe becomes these gusts, determined not to disappoint.
the world’s a blur
then it erupts into laughter.
“or no wait..”
maybe it’s just you starting to notice?
Self-deprived of reasons to be happy.
reasons aren’t reasons,
if we encouraged compassion/joy/positivity as much as we romanticise serious mental illnesses to seem almost desirably poetic, maybe we’d be able to spread the much-needed positive vibes in our lives.