_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_

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  • _creatingworldsthatdonotexist_ 7w

    To,
    Someone I'll find. Eventually.

    These are my skies. I have them draped in graffiti because I was tired of not being able to decide what I saw when I looked up. There were always only two plots to choose from, anyway - gloom or gloom. I envy people who can look up and trace and find unicorns and candyfloss and smiles with their clouds.For me, they've always looked like distorted mirror images of daggers and pottery gone wrong. I'd realized this celestial, divine modern art was not for me and I stopped looking at the sky for very long. I did not want to acknowledge my fears. But I want you to know that my palms get sweaty, I can't walk straight and I spend 23 hours every day trying to undo the nightmares that the sky above me weaves. And the last time, I looked at the sky, I was blindfolded - busy making my skies like me. And now, my skies do not sparkle in cycles. They do not exchange blue for crimson and crimson for black because they don't have to.

    When the blue moon glittered on the edges of my nails last night, and my iris did not want to drown in any more light, I do not know how but I landed up in this dream. I do not dream often. It is a "once in a blue moon" occurrence {pun (un)intended} but I remember every pixel of what I saw last night. It is engrained on every inch of my memory reel. I do not know what it means but I think it led me to you. It was all brilliantly bright - so bright, I could not see my own fingers and there was a very distinct siren wail in the background. I slid through what looked like a library of memories - butterflies locked in jars, half-eaten toasts, shattered wreathes and in the end - a ring. Then came the embrace. The water held me tight by my hips and even though i could not breathe, it felt like I wanted to stay there - amidst the coral and weed. The siren wail was gone and it was almost as if the water itself was singing to me, very meekly yet adamantly, as if it wanted me to remember - " Auburn hair. Letter. You must. "

    It is funny how ever since I learnt to write, the word "solace" has brought me to you. I have not given you a shape or skin colour but I have known your lips on my scars. I have felt like we know each other across hamlets and universes and even if my heaviness does not collide into your home some night, you will be the only one I run to, when the streetlights become jammed and my hands can't move from under the lampshade. I have thought of you like the wind, breathing into my ears and reminding me, I am not alone. I have known you as the laughter in my crayons. It is a miracle but for once, you reassure me of owning a home. It is a miracle but for once, I think I have known love. It is a miracle but for once, I have started to like the rains.

    There are a million stories I have wrapped and thrown under the thickest journal I possess that lies unlabelled under the weight of love letters I've written to myself because everytime I've tried reading them aloud to people who tell me they "love" me, I've been reciprocated with confused glares and detachment floating between our breaths. Often, "fiction", mama tells me is the genre of these stories but how do I tell her that her daughter has swum across every word that makes them ? I have grounded these stories in my golden cage of exulansis. I don't speak of them anymore. And things that I don't speak of, I write because when I am gone, I would like to be unravelled. I would like to come undone in the hands of someone and make them weep. I would like my pages to get wet in their tears and I would like them to think of me in their sleep and say - "I wish I'd found her sooner because I love her. " but when I peek at you through my window and I look at the gleam in your eyes, I find hope and you'll probably make it happen before I'm gone, right ?

    I know, I am acatalepsy personified. I know that no matter how hard you try, you will never be able to get to the bed of my ocean and I don't expect you to, either but with me, things will never be difficult. Because I read. When you walk into the café to see me for the first time, it will not be difficult to spot me. My hair will be loose and I will have to keep tucking it behind my ear because tying it into a bun would mean, letting go of the book in my hands. My coffee will be begging for attention as my eyes tear through pages of a bestseller I grabbed on my way there and my face will give away the plot. If the plot is sad, you will find me holding a handkerchief to my nose beacuse it runs faster than my eyes. If the characters are growing with the story, I will smile and laugh and garner stares from the old lady sitting opposite to me. My heart will turn into a tachyon and I will fall in love with the male lead faster than the speed of light. You may have to do something to catch my attention at first but when you have, you will have all of me. It will not be difficult to start a conversation. Ask me about the last book i read or why I love Murakami or what I understood of the Ulysses. It will not be difficult to go shopping because I spend more on books than clothes. It will not be difficult to pick a present. You can gift me books for Christmas, birthdays, anniversaries and it will never be difficult to fall asleep next to me because I will read you my favourite poems every night. It will never be difficult to fall for me, not because I read but because I write.

    I am not innocent. I am hungry and I am bored. I am fierce for there is nothing I want more than the sunlight shining on my neat hair, rejoicing in starbursts. I have desperately waited. Not for someone. Not for something. I have waited because that's all I have learnt to and sometimes I fear that I'll be dead and no one will remember to close my eyes and even in death, I'll wait for that's all I'd have learnt. And you took one look at me and broke the earth open for desire. No one can storm my heart to surrender and though, I am not innocent, I was not taken. I left. The footprints on the mud near your mile-high gates are mine. Walking for you felt nice. It felt like you coaxed spring from inside of me.

    There is no single quiddity to me. I do not come down to something as mundane as my "essence". I am all over everything. I collect rags to sew them to my scrapbook and look at them transition to your portrait. I walk over pearl bridges and I forget to turn the room heater off. I can be dancing among the sunflowers one moment and the next, you will find me at war with my ideals trying to figure what amounts to nothingness or inspidity. You will hear me singing melodies to the larks and voicing what many render as "tacenda" between my syllables. My colours are as raw as the beetroots we dug up this morning and as ripe as the honey trickling from the comb of your sun-hued eyes. I have made peace with being in the Japanese "Ukiyo". I can be the tide retreating and swallowing your pain but on days that I go rogue I wish you don't leave me. I wish you caress my wounds with more pride than you flaunt my accomplishments. I wish you hold on to me when I roar and scratch and hurt you so you can dance to my poems when they begin to sing for you.

    ~ Yours,
    Someone who'll find you. Eventually.

    ©_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_

    -----------------------------------××××------------------------------------
    @bluepuppy01 @ablaze_writer - Your dares. aah. done :")
    @daphnae - answer to your "truth" question (๑´•.̫ • `๑)
    CHALLENGE HOSTED BY @cyan_rose
    -----------------------------------××××------------------------------------
    @ikigaii - Tried your challenge toooo. Thanks a tonne for it (•ө•)♡
    -----------------------------------××××------------------------------------
    @writersbay #tidec

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  • _creatingworldsthatdonotexist_ 8w

    The Absent Zero

    Its that month of the year,
    Feathers are birthed of
    Snow
    And lilacs cry
    Swirling in damp castles
    Built of memories and
    Almost stories
    That were buried in
    A soil that reaked of fear
    Having swallowed a trillion
    Anonymous tombstones

    Its that month of the year
    When I forget
    How to sing
    And every voice
    Echoes of pain bouncing off
    The walls of my heart
    Sunsets get muskier and
    Every dawn makes declarations
    Of the Cold
    Jogging on my skin

    Its that month of the year,
    There are hints of joy
    And a little something called
    Hope
    In the fortune cookies
    Papa bought last evening
    But the glow on
    The arch outside our home
    Spells doom wrapped in
    Muffled cries for help

    And I wish
    The year Began with a Z.E.R.O.
    But then I'm reminded that
    Time fringes from the road
    Not taken
    And throws un-velvety flowers
    With claws that sit like
    Sutures on my skin
    Where losses
    Must turn into festivities
    And tears must not be allowed
    To smudge my eyeliner

    The thing is,
    I always know when its the end
    but no matter
    how far I stretch my arms
    to grab them,
    my beginnings remain
    unsuccessfully developed negatives People tell me,
    my life will always be chequered,
    and like chessmen,
    I must learn to move forward
    or learn to succumb
    to defeat crushing my skull.
    But, none of this
    has ever made any sense to me. Perhaps,
    because I believe
    that it is a better fate
    to flame forth for a brief time
    than to ashen forever.
    And even though
    I've never understood
    this hamster wheel,
    I have kept running in it ,
    with my eyes blindfolded
    because some times, and I won't lie, ignorance has felt blissful.
    But,
    conformity has its own share of punishments,
    perhaps the cruelest i have known.
    I will always keep everyone happy ~ everyone but myself.
    And when I rub my eyes,
    instead of phosphenes,
    I see fragments.
    I have tried putting these fragments under the magnifying glass
    and hunting down their origins
    But
    How do you find a widow,
    Her husband ?

    If only we could
    Make January
    As good as
    Z.E.R.O.

    //

    ©_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_

  • _creatingworldsthatdonotexist_ 9w

    #iciclec
    @writersbay ~ You feel like the boy next door. So generous and hard working, too. I love you (•ө•)♡
    @writersnetwork ~ You give me hope and I seriously wish i keep up to how high you're raising the bar by giving me all this love. Thank you and I love you (•ө•)♡

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    Why I Could Only Love You
    Nine and Three - Quarters (9¾)


    Loving somebody is not
    Easy,
    When
    Cobwebs hang from their
    Chandeliers and,
    Their eyes live
    With the fear of leaking,
    Because someone
    Broke their belief
    That the creases under
    Were meant to hold their
    Tears
    Back,

    Loving somebody is not easy
    When they
    Decorate their charred doors
    With pearls and
    Tie platinum chains
    To their broken heartstrings
    And hide under
    The old willow tree
    They planted in their heart
    And nurtured with their
    Gloom and there are
    Flowers of poetry
    That bloom on the grass
    That's greener but they don't
    Know where

    Loving somebody is not
    Easy
    When loving them
    Means staying up
    And watching the sky
    Waiting with the stars in a vestibule
    To hold the sun by the waist
    Knowing that your arms
    Will hurt
    And you will not be
    Able to walk
    The road you laid down
    Because on your shoulders
    The fatigue of the past night
    Will clamber
    But understanding that
    Sometimes
    Lending a shoulder
    And holding the pieces
    Of the painting
    That eases your sunsets
    And letting them
    Feed on your smile
    Is worth it

    Loving somebody is not
    Easy
    When you must write them
    Song lyrics and poems
    Without a single inch of paper
    And without your
    Red blood and black ink
    Because your tongue
    Must become the ink
    As their lips become the words
    And your vulnerability
    Creates the punctuation
    So your breaths can make the
    Diction
    And in each other you
    Leave paragraph imprints
    But before
    Your perfect novel
    Is writ
    The storms you
    Both cannot cut through
    Tear you
    Like lasers in your eyes

    Loving somebody is not
    Easy
    When they don't always
    Like contentment and simplicity
    And they build
    In you
    The home they never had
    And when you
    Walk into
    Adventures
    And bandage promises
    Like the flowers
    Pressed between the pages of your
    Diary
    Knowing that both,
    The promises and pages
    Will not have the privilege of
    Revival

    Loving somebody is not
    Easy
    When loving them
    Means diving headfirst
    Into arctic waters
    With icicles rooting from
    Your hair follicles
    And singing prayers
    That inhabit your veins

    Loving somebody is not
    Easy
    But let me tell you
    I can love you
    Without talking to you
    For ten years
    And i can still love you
    If i push you
    To let go
    Because I know
    What it means to
    Mistake succumbing to boundaries
    For succumbing to love


    Loving somebody is not
    Easy
    But sometimes,
    Not loving them is
    more difficult

    //

    ©_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_

  • _creatingworldsthatdonotexist_ 9w

    @writersnetwork Muchas Gracias ! (•ө•)♡

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    I did not wish to become like this
    I wished to be everywhere,
    to make every
    leaf my own,
    to lend you a shoulder
    when the sky
    was beginning to rot
    under the weight of false hope
    I do not know
    how many storms
    have taken
    me home and how
    many homes have left me under
    the snow sliding off fir pines
    I don't remember being this way
    Its almost like
    I have forgotten
    what it feels like
    to be comfortable in my skin
    because somewhere
    along my journey,
    I met dirt and it stuck to me like
    i wished you would,
    and then I met thorns
    and I was left
    in my shattered pool of longing,
    and just
    when i thought I'd fallen
    to the deepest ditch
    I possibly could
    I met the wind
    and my pieces flew away,
    ending up miles apart
    until they
    were irretrievable - i was irretrievable
    I do not remember
    how I came here -
    to this archipelago of perpetual gloom
    I am not sadistic,
    But i think
    i just killed
    A part of me
    What did you expect ?
    Darling,
    You will have to
    fly more
    than just your finger
    Give more than a casual thought,
    More than a heedless glance,
    More than a careless breath to
    Move me,
    Resurrect me
    What did you expect ?
    I was born in this mud,
    This filth is mine,
    My roots feed on my insecurities
    How did you think
    I'd be gentle ?
    When i was born in the womb
    Of Destruction,
    Birthed of a neutron star
    And under terraces that
    You avoided
    I embroidered your name
    In the yarn I'd spun
    Did you expect
    I'd not fall in love ?
    Haven't you ever looked
    At your rawness ?
    At how you smile,
    When you talk about
    The things you love ?
    How could i not want
    To be one of those things,
    When you made me belong
    To more than just
    The grime that was my origin
    I'm ancient
    But
    I swear
    If i saw you again
    I'd start believing
    In the quaint universe
    I abandoned
    When i was 5
    Under the feathers
    Of an angel yet to fly
    There's something I have
    Stopped looking for
    Because on a day
    Very like this
    I'd owned it too
    And a little girl sat
    Staring at the cloudy caricatures
    Painting me in her mind
    But it was only until I flew
    That I owned it
    For there's something in the air
    That's hostile
    And in its vicinity
    My dreams
    Give way to afflictions
    And love
    Turns a shade I am
    Not meant to wear
    One day I'll invite
    You to my table
    For i want you to see war
    I want you to shed tears
    You'll see fragility break its bones
    And let me tell you
    About
    the brook under your feet ~
    It abounds in vivid memories
    That have bled
    Fiction
    Guilt is the only jewellery
    My folklore likes draping
    And when I'm asleep
    I fear
    I'll never wake up
    And I'm unhappy
    And disturbed
    By how long i can go on
    If you asked me
    What i don't like about myself
    On most days
    My rants make more sense
    Than my truth
    If i spill
    You'll stain
    For I'm the wine
    That won't leave you
    With a hangover
    I'll hook onto
    Your loneliness
    And so,
    I'll stay forever

    //

    ©_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_

  • _creatingworldsthatdonotexist_ 9w

    Five roses in a velvet bag.

    I saw the ring that night. Perfection is a delusional word for something like it. I couldn’t stare at it because i could already feel it staring back, dissecting my flesh, rowing me across rivers of moments I had wrapped in layers of my blood because I did not want to touch them. I knew I could even embrace my grave if it meant knowing you’d be happy. I did not want to abandon the painting of you I was making. I did not want to leave my clothes because I knew they’d remind you of a poem you desperately wanted to complete but needed your muse to. I did not want to leave behind my lipstick. They say I am supposed to be happy and they say i am supposed to find sleep but how can I, when ever doorbell makes me flutter because maybe, just maybe its you in a tuxedo, waiting for me with a rose ? That night, I did hold you. I did not write you a note because I did not have the heart to leave you with the burden of a suicide. I left you with atleast two things. Your portrait and my heart. On your doorstep, love grew another feather and I hoped you’d wake up and not remember me, like the dozen dreams you have every night.

    It’s never been easy to look at you or maybe its the looking away I fear more. But when I look at you, there is just so much to savour and so little to lose. There is so little to lose and yet so much to get lost into. I’ll let you borrow this memory because for once I want you to know what it feels like to remember. What it feels like to live, trapped in loops of polaroids and caffeine. I want you to know how it feels like, to look at you past the citylights and beyond the orange glow of the scenery, to look at you like the clouds look at the earth, wanting to wet every inch of it, waiting to paint its face. Oh ! and under the layers of black eyed Susans that I left on your table, I buried something I hope your fingers will catch. It might feel like the beach in your hands and I know it’ll feel a bit hard to hold onto at times. You’ll feel more of it slipping than was ever yours. Maybe it’ll even cut you a few times and when it does, it’ll hurt. It’ll hurt like that song you keep listening to because you’re fighting battles. On somedays, it’ll shine. It’ll look like pieces of the moon sewed onto you. You’ll feel giddy and you might hallucinate a little too. If you do, I’ll come to you in that red dress you wanted me to wear and I refused to because I was hoping you’d decorate me yourself. It’ll smell of the rain we danced in and played in puddles until it was morning and the water had fallen in love with our ankles. I’d say you refrain from tasting it but if you do, it’ll taste like the kiss we never had. and I know they say that the light is a good thing but don’t fall for it. You’re a shadow.

    And I know you’ll find it difficult to name it. You’ve always had it bad with names and so I’ll name it for you. I call it Hope and when it begins to feel like five roses in a velvet bag, know that I am around for I was always yours to find.

    //

    ©_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_

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  • _creatingworldsthatdonotexist_ 10w

    The heart is,
    A lawyer in,
    A magician's disguise,
    Holding on to the serrations,
    Of a dull machete.

    The heart is,
    The fallen Czar of a ,
    Crippled Kingdom,
    Bathed in the milk,
    Of a forlorn mother.

    The heart is,
    The wingless butterfly ,
    In the ink of my,
    Blood red sea.

    The heart is,
    An imperial bridge
    Over the cherry freckles,
    On your angelic,
    Cheekbones.

    The heart is,
    Our silken robe,
    Which encompasses me,
    As I walk,
    With the,
    Sapphire of our,
    Sordid destiny.

    The heart is,
    My snorkel,
    As polyps in the ocean,
    Encrypt subtle signatures,
    Under the umbrella,
    Of my fringed eyelashes,
    In the cradle of,
    Our shattered dreams.

    The heart is,
    The beach waves,
    My sands,
    Never embraced,
    While dawn took,
    The skies in,
    Its arms.

    The heart is,
    A sunset,
    Our eyes will,
    Never see.

    The heart is,
    A lonely hunter.

    //lonely hunter

    ©_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_

  • _creatingworldsthatdonotexist_ 10w

    I had been shoving myself around, killing the 36 other versions of me that manifested as the voices in my head. I was on a rampage. Every heart I chanced to meet, I walked over. I had become marijuana for I choked grass blades under my feet and it felt good because their muffled cries reminded me I had company. I had become winter for daisies shivered when I was lurking around. I had become scarlet for the light did shine upon me but I'd gulped more shattered splinters and waning metaphors than I had known words. I had become the sleet that fell for there were tears that needed concealing. I had become the funeral we were never able to give the child we buried and wailed and gamboled around with, in heather bushes and muddy waters. I had become piffle for nobody seemed to understand what my eyes wrote out. I had become the silence between your words and the chaos hidden in mine .

    And then, on the landing of the stairway i had forgotten, huddled up in the corner i knew almost too well, I found a girl. She told me she did not believe in love. She told me she had once had someone. They had watched sunsets together. They had built castles by the bay. They had made promises of the end. They had walked stormy seas and tamed their wolves. They had drawn hearts within wreathes of rosemary. They had vowed a forever and then suddenly everything had been a storm and it had wrecked her. But isn't all love that way ? Two names that have turned into war cries and two hearts that will push each other, break each other and heal each other until one is gone ? Isn't all love, war ?

    She then told me, the world was an ugly place. I told her to listen to music under the rain. I told her to dance and look into the eyes of doves, to fly with them. I told her to feel the snow of the mountains on her skin. I told her to burn in the ocean. I told her to look at the sunflowers dance to the sun's songs and when she still hadn't smiled in days, I told her to wear her favourite dress. I looked into her eyes for I wanted her to see what I saw. Sometimes, that's all we need to do - look at others with eyes of someone we're loved by. Beauty is like our car keys. Easily lost but always nearby if you look for it.

    And on that landing, I knew, I'd met myself.

    ©_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_

    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Credits : @sangfroid_soul ~ Thank you, for I do think a lil part here about love and war resembles and might have been inspired by a recent post of yours, love

    PC _ Pinterest

    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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  • _creatingworldsthatdonotexist_ 10w

    I was counting the sequins on the gown the sky wore that night and in my heart, a hamlet of tiny blotches of blood wove my dreams into a dress i knew i would never wear. I'd promised myself I'd bleed for better reasons this year, but who are we kidding ? My resolutions last only as long as the smile I put up on the walls of my face because I can't afford to let tears moisten and ruin the expensive paint I plaster on it everyday. But not all of me is a sham. Maybe if you looked closely enough, and stopped to bare and dive into the pool of evaporating joy I managed to condense for you, you'd taste stories and laughter hidden under heaps of dead letters. My veins will testify that on some days, the thoughts that cross my mind desire personification. They desire limbs so they can crawl out from under my hair and they demand digits so they can sow better thoughts into the quicksands I hold for i want them to drown in me. You see, I was born hungry and I've lived enough to know that only the fruits I grow in the jungle of my wild imagination can feed me. Someday, when my sun will have set too many times, the moon will have cried over the death of a friend who'd often held its hands when it was not whole, the wolves will have initiated a lion to their pack and the snow will have become white enough to bury all the seven tints I've guarded, my dandelions will bloom.

    And yesternight when you raced down the river, where you'd buried me and you looked at how the earth had eroded all of me, my skin looked pale and there was a saline taste that lingered in the air. I do not know why but it tasted like the one time I bit my lip and licked it till it was morning. My arms unconciously seeked yours and my legs knew they had walked enough to run out of this world, straight onto the road not taken. And then you saw me doing something you did not know I was capable of. I s-m-i-l-e-d and it was not the usual piece of tape I used to glue on whenever I deemed convenient. The streetlights stole the stars. Showers of kisses planted themselves on your neck and in that moment, you drank from the brook of life and everything seemed so much more brilliant. The air seemed to lift you, rather than cut. The water sounded like your insecurities falling into a ditch they'd never return from. Butterflies swarmed around your wounds. Rocks began to look sculpted, and there was familiar beauty in them - as if they were my cheekbones. You darling, fell in love but i forgot to tell you and I hope its not too late now. There's this thing about love. It avenges us fallen.

    How do I know ? Death does not kill some. It gives them the life they've wished for. There's no better peace than knowing that even when all you're doing is keeping your eyes shut and devoiding your heart of its beats, you will have all the flowers they forget to give you when your nose could still relish their perfume. Regret is stronger than gratitude.

    There's always enough space
    Six feet underground
    Sometimes, when all is lost
    All is found
    And if you can hear the dead
    I'll sing you this song
    For this is home
    This is where we belong //

    ©_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_
    #belongc

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  • _creatingworldsthatdonotexist_ 10w

    To whoever has hardened their heart enough to read this over my lifeless body,

    Trust was the shoelace I never learnt to tie correctly. Sometimes, i could not manage bringing the two ends close enough. Sometimes, i failed to cross the right loop and sometimes, I preferred having the lace intertwined with my fingers over performing the petty task of holding up my life for me. Maybe, that's the reason I could not leave the task of writing my eulogy to you. I have not let anyone peep through the drapes of my heart well enough. I'm afraid I haven't been a transparent lens that sings my stories. I have fogged every quark in me for i knew you wouldn't be able to dance with my demons. They hide behind angelic costumes of joy and feigned laughter. All my life, my story has been told as lines from a novel that I have not written. You have not known my journey, the wilderness of emotions I've been, the sky of vermillion tear droplets I've cried, the anthology of poems my tangled hair has been, the dark mornings and bright dusks I've seen, the warmth winter has brought my cold dreams or the willow tree my dreams have swung from. You have seen me as an ocean but you do not know that all my breaths have swum across a million streams, walked a hundred bridges, burnt a thousand rainbows, basked in snow and frozen in daylight to get to the ocean you have known me as. And I know, today too, I shall be failed. You will listen to me and your prayers will cry with you, but a thousand and one nights from now, you will watch your favourite soap opera, wear your favourite jewellery, wash the dishes, and smile because I was but a song to you and there are a hundred more on your playlist to keep you going.

    I have craved sweet all my life and I shall crave sweet long after I am ashes. Maybe that is why I could not leave the task of writing my eulogy to you. You cannot expect hemlock trees to start growing magnolias. It'd be a sin and once, upon my death I wish to refrain from committing one. I have been eating on bitter words, I have walked across beaches where each sand grain has been a failure, I have sewn my mouth shut and spent nights bleeding on my bed trying to let something sweet form within me, I have written stories that will never be read, I have lived autumns yearning for winter to dwell on my tongue and I have plucked roses to prick my soul and press its dry petals between threads of a crochet I left in the sink. I do not know how I fell for the lullabies that were signing me to a sleep I would never be able to wake up from. Maybe, because I crave sweet.

    I have profound insights and grim memories of times I wished I didn't remember anyone and no one remembered me. But, today, in my grave, I wish for immortality and in your memories, I shall be a tenant. For all the rents I have paid all my life, give me a home upon my death.

    And now that I'm dead, I wish to take command for once. I wish to dictate how you shall remember me. When you rise from the crumpled sheets on your bed, remember me as the sunshine knocking on your window, as the reason your sedan has a sunroof. When you walk to your bathtub, remember me as the water that unlike people who should have loved you better, is unafraid to touch you even when you are your most devastated and broken. When you breathe, remember me as the freedom in the air that does not cost you but pushes your heart to beat one more time. When you walk, remember me as the grass below your feet, that carpets your steps and smiles with you when you bring your lover and lay on your back, watching the comets run after their tails. When you can't find sleep, remember me as the bedtime story your mama read to you by the fireplace everyday, incessantly until you were at ease in her arms. When the night seems a little too dark and your sails are dry for the wind has ceased to blow, remember me as the firefly that lights up your skies and whisks and dances with wings that fly you to your destination. When science disinterests you, remember me as the forlorn writer who has scribbled you letters that are awaiting discovery.

    And maybe, remember me as the girl who smiled and wrote for she wished to be remembered and smiles and words were the only infinity she knew.

    ~ Never yours,
    She.

    ©_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_
    #rememberasc
    --------------------------------×××××-----------------------------------
    Edit : please don't wake me up if this is a dream
    (´ . .̫ . `)
    Thanks a tonne @writersnetwork (•ө•)♡

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  • _creatingworldsthatdonotexist_ 11w

    " What is beauty, anyway ? "
    " Terror stirred in silence." /
    " And what makes it desirable, then ? "
    " The winter snow and sub-zero love. " /
    " Why does that hurt ? "
    " Its poetry. " /
    " Does all poetry hurt ? "
    " All poets do. " /
    " And how do you spot one ? "
    " Become one. " /
    " And how do ~you~ know ? "
    " Koi no yokan and chamomile. " /
    " Huh ? "
    " Memories. " /
    " Memories of what ? "
    " A forever. " /
    " Are you drunk ? "
    " Art is intoxicating. " /
    " Is this normal ? "
    " Normalcy is an untwisted concrete street. Its easy to walk on, but when you stop to catch your breath, you shall find only cobblestones. No flowers will await your weariness. " /
    " And if i become the flower that makes concrete crack under its sleepy petals to have you pluck me ? Will you walk down Normalcy Lane ? "
    " You don't pluck the stars that light up your skies. " /
    " And if I wilt and I cry and I cry and I wilt but I bloom everyday until your arms are my deathbed ? "
    " Then you shall bloom evermore. " /
    " You won't come ? "
    " If that's the price of letting sunshine kiss you everyday. " /
    " But I thought you said my sun wouldn't come ? "
    " Giselle. " /
    " Will you make me a promise ? " /
    " No. "
    " Giselle. " /
    " Promises are fickle. The moon doesn't promise to light up the sky when the sun is gone but don't we know it will ?"
    " Giselle. " /
    " Its 6:36, Rei. "
    " And ? " /
    " We've switched places. "
    " Just like the sun and moon. " /
    " Is that what we are ? /
    " And papercuts and dragons. "
    " But where ? " /
    " In tokens and charms. "
    " Do you want me to stay ? " /
    " Like a scar. "
    " Why, Giselle ? " /
    " My scars are mine, and unlike people, they stay and forever so. They remind me that I am capable of healing myself. "
    " We're one more thing. " /
    " Death. "
    " What is death, anyway ? " /
    " Cerulean blood and crimson waters."
    " And perfection stargazing at bleak stories like ours. " /
    " Giselle, I have something to tell you. " /
    " I know. Aren't we both just subliminal poets afterall ?"

    And it was 6:36 again. Soon.

    ©_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_

    --------------------------××××××××××-------------------------------

    Koi no yokan ~ the feeling that you will fall in love with this person you've meet. Soon.

    --------------------------×××××××××××------------------------------

    The lines which have a / at the end are Ramos's ( Giselle calls him Rei ) and the others belong to Giselle.
    --------------------------××××××××××××-----------------------------

    #promisec
    --------------------------××××××××××××-----------------------------

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