coldwhisperforyou
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Sometimes, silence is not a sign of calm, but rather a state of being so full that we are unable to speak; a multitude of words crowd the heart, yet we swallow them one by one, acknowledging that some of what we keep hidden will never be understood by anyone, no matter how much we try to explain.
What I say is but a small fraction of what I feel; within me lie countless words that have never found their way out, and emotions too vast to be captured in a single sentence. Sometimes, I simply remain silent—not because I have nothing to say, but because I do not know how to describe the entire world that dwells within me.
Everything has an end, no matter how long the road; some doors don't close because we've reached the end, but because the time has come to leave what was and move towards what we don't yet know.
Extinction doesn't happen all at once; some things burn us slowly, until we discover too late that we are no longer the same as we were, and that what we thought was a fleeting moment has consumed a whole lifetime of us.
What we possess may increase, while what is in our hearts decreases; not everything we gain enriches us, and some gains come at an unseen price, until we find ourselves richer on the outside, and more broken on the inside.
When words fail to describe what's in the heart, music takes care of the rest; melodies speak what silence has concealed, and narrate what we could never express.
It was once a means of connecting us with those we love, then it became a broken piece of the past; and that's how some things are, they don't end when they break down, but when they become memories we can't bring back.
How hard it is to have true love between two hearts, and between them a door that cannot be opened. They both stay close in feeling, far in reaching
Once again, we put on our smiles in the very places where our films grow weary, until it becomes difficult for others to know: are we alright, or have we mastered the art of pretending?
Sometimes it's not the things around us that break, but rather our perception of them; we continue to see life as it is, but something deep within us is no longer able to see it in the same way.
The body may grow weary from carrying so much, and the years may leave their mark on our features, but some healing has not ended; however heavy the journey may be, there remains in the heart a glimmer of hope for another journey.
We walk through life with feet weary from the journey, carrying upon them the shocks of what we have endured, yet we continue; for sometimes the pain of exhaustion becomes unbearable.
Sometimes it's not time that breaks, but rather we who break within it; the hours pass, the days fall by, and we remain trying to gather what life has scattered from our lives.
How many nights were you the star that amazed me?
And now there is no star, no light, no clouds.
