°°If You Love Someone

💮Never have I tried to rewatch my past to narrate myself. I know it's a mess, it's random, but I can feel it something beautiful. Everything fall in place just like a story. Sometimes I welcome the circumstances which fall in place. I watch, suffer, break, but never intend to mess with the sequence. The mishappenings seems beautiful in a chaotic way, and perfectly put. I think, 'Won't be a nice storyline to narrate?'💮

|Picture Credit : Pinterest|

🍁 Acceptance isn't forceful. It's the complete admiration of who you are, and the strong will to posses nothing else other than exactly what you have.

People aren't rude,

We just grow up without telling ourselves.

Have you ever heard the noise of silence?

@tessguinery

But oh!... if it's you, I would never mind losing myself into your hands eternally or for a thousand times, and putting my heart away in every pieces and pieces and present them in front of you to play with.

Me when I write a poem: Yearning for equanimity in such unavailing hour, I collapse, I despair, I weep…

Me when writing a school paper: Donating blood is important because blood is important. 

"Not everything is about you"

💮 Such a statement, both a pain and and a peace. As you're growing older you realize you're actually not the centre of the universe. You actually now have to stand in the line of topics like just other people. Theres an intense ache inside your chest that now you know theres more like you, more without you. You knew it, but not exactly knew it in a level of accepting it about you unless you've heard it.

But you're blessed in a sense, you're now not the one entirely focused on. You're not the imagery of everything. You're not an idol, a symbol. You're ordinary, with no anxiety of being controversial for whatever you state. You can disappear, be yourself, isolate yourself, because you're one of the crowd, and people accept you as imperfect. People will judge, wonder, but you're not a trending topic. Isn't that less chaotic?💮

◆|Picture Credit : Pinterest |◆

If I'm the grief

You'd be my long lost sadness, buried inside my ashes of anger.

If I'm the scar, you'd be the dripping blood,

Your clotted barrier, shielding me unwrapped.

If I'm voiceless, you'd be my pen, paper and words.

And if I'm "love"

You'd be the unrequited before it, the hopeless, before my romance.

Don't you know jealousy, is a kind of pain? A pain, of not being enough?