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"So, if you are too tired to speak, sit next to me because I, too, am fluent in silence"
_ R. Arnold
Seeing (by Arista) under a poem immediately let's me know that I'm going to finally feel understood
e7a3e9b8-1eaa-4402-9b3d-c7913b0fda41.mp35.96 MB
Her love is a rose, pale and dying
Dropping her petals in land unknown
All full of wine, the world before her
Was sober with no place to go
But don't fool yourself
she was heartache from the moment that you met her
I wandered too far from my true name,
and the forest learned it before I did.
Each step traded something livingβ
a memory, a hunger, a certaintyβ
until I was lighter than my shadow.
The mirrors stopped recognizing me.
They showed a figure shaped like habit,
eyes borrowed, voice thinned by vows
I never meant to keep.
Somewhere, my old self sleeps
under moss and quiet magic,
waiting for a hand that remembers
how to reach without asking permission.
I walk on, spellbound and unfinished,
wearing a face the world accepts.
If I am lost, it is not for lack of searching,
but because the path keeps changing
when it realizes I am following it.
By Arista
"Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living."
_ Jonathon saffron foer, extremely loud and incredibly close
If a love hasn't grown wings of dreams from the depths of your soul,
Ripped open your chest,
And perched on the rim
To lick your bleeding heart.
It wasn't a love after all
