Hopeless Musing #33

Negotiations.

 

Source: https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/708613322607012767/

NEGOTIATIONS.

Is life just a series of negotiations?

Swapping pain for a different type,

Sacrificing things that shouldn’t be,

 

For the sake of everyone else?

Quote Of The Day 05/02/2020

WEDNESDAY, 05/02/2020:

Source: https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/620582023632589178/

‘You read and write and sing and experience, thinking that one day these things will build the character you admire to live as.

You love and lose and bleed best you can, to the extreme, hoping that one day the world will read you like the poem you want to be.’

– Charlotte Eriksson

Hopeless Musing #32

Afterthought.

 

Source: https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/332562753732079548/

AFTERTHOUGHT.

I keep waiting for your call.

I was hoping you wouldn’t forget me today.

Why is it that you make me feel so loved, and so alone, all at once?

But now it’s nearing midnight… have you forgotten me? I wonder when you’ll remember me.  Even as an afterthought.

That would be enough.

 

But perhaps it is simply me, who is not enough.

I Wonder.

A poem.

 

blink and you’ll miss it

life is gone quicker than it comes

i wonder what is in store for us

 

when we open our eyes again.

Hopeless Musing #30

Light.

 

Source: https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/474918723206764986/

LIGHT.

Some people turn our hearts to fire, and others turn them to ice.

But it doesn’t matter how long it’s been since I saw you last, your presence is like light. As soon as I see you, my problems melt away, burned by a fire that could never die.

There aren’t enough good words in the English language to describe how much I care about you.

But every day you walk this Earth, means I continue to walk it too.

Hopeless Musing #29

Trampled.

 

Source: https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/408560997416764282/

TRAMPLED.

Roses litter the footpath, curling up as if in agony where they’ve been trampled by passers-by. Their petals are brown at the edges, cut and bruised and betrayed, cut loose from the place they once flourished.

Where does the circle of life start and end?

When do these roses find their way back to the ground, to the soil, and give life to something new, if not by being trampled?

Why do we see them as broken and useless, when they are valuable forever?

Hopeless Musing #27

Letters.

 

SOurce: https://weheartit.com/entry/333961481?context_page=3&context_query=plant+photography&context_type=search

LETTERS.

Sometimes I wish I could throw my phone away – in an age so hung up on technology, how lovely it would be to send letters to you.

Writing my feelings was always so much easier than saying them, but when they’re stuck on a screen, they don’t feel as real. They become just another another status update, another tweet, another instant message… another meaningless, emotionless stamp in time. Just one button-click away from each other.

But there’s something so much more authentic, when the words on the paper have traveled miles, days and across continents, just to reach you.

I miss handwriting, I miss ink smudges and tear drops and accidental errors, scrubbed out and re-written.

I miss unfolding and folding beloved letters, reading and re-reading, until the paper grew worn and felt like velvet at the folds. I miss seeing the letters and words on pages ripped from books and notepads, that weren’t perfectly typed, but written, scrawled and scarred – imperfectly perfect – a story in a story.

But mostly, I just miss feeling something real.

 

 

Hopeless Musing #24

Peculiar.

 

Source: https://weheartit.com/entry/331467118?context_page=3&context_query=peony+bouquet&context_type=search

PECULIAR.

It’s peculiar, how some people seem to stroll into our lives as if God had them made especially for us. Their very essence is like a gravity made only for us, drawing us closer to them without us noticing, until we look in their eyes one day, and realize exactly what they mean to us.

It’s heartbreaking and beautiful, all at the same time.

It’s the most peculiar thing. They tell stories of a life before you knew them, and yet you feel you were there all along.

And you both know it, but you dare n’t say the words aloud, for fear the world around you both will come crashing down.

 

Drains & Grates.

A poem.

 

The sidewalk is littered with traces of souls, blown by the wind from another place, in a hope that they might be remembered.

 

And forever is a myth, we only have now, but the best of humanity walk in the light of hope – giving up their lives and their loves for what may be, rather than what is.

 

Love can only sustain the tragedy of our souls for so long, before we too become littered on the sidewalk, hoping to be remembered.

 

We mere mortals were never meant to be celebrated in the way we celebrate ourselves – perhaps that’s why we end up with the leaves and the rubbish, caught in drains and grates with no where to go.