Don't darling, Don't fix those cracks that blossomed on your mask (I don't think I've ever seen Anything Quite so scarringly perfected) And these gaps they nestle May I slip past those? As the gravity of your soul Pulls me further into its Depths, With a force so monstrous No angel would want to escape; (Is that why you call me your 'angel'?)
This subtle beckoning I'm far past swooning, I'm aching to become one with your ruins;
(Why don't you let me breathe with it? Why don't you let me breathe within it?)
Sometimes I feel like a peanut without it's shell, The shell being the best and the most intricately crafted part of me , the one that everyone admired and considered me to be lucky for... Maybe it was a little too scarringly perfected (I wonder why people never thought of that ) Nevertheless I cared for it only because something so carefully crafted and molded existed for me and no other peanut can fit itself into the emptiness I left behind, a petty reason to feel special indeed, a petty reason that left me behind.
Sometimes I feel like a peanut shell without it's peanut, Strewn into some corner , not having to force myself into a journey that the peanut is rolling along. Eventually I'd be picked up by some magical creature of sorts , maybe Peter Pan? He'd take me on the journey with all the other dead childish peanut shells and we'd only call ourselves dead because he promised us that we'll never grow up.
Maybe Peter Pan would snuggle up into the so-called shells and hum out a sweet little lullaby borrowed from our childhood which echoes through the hollowness , filling it up and making the shells somewhat seem complete again unlike the abandoned peanuts.
Dear Peter Pan, Being a child was so much more fulfilling , I felt so much more complete because I got to be the peanut and the shell. Who knew that growing up would mean ending up as a naked little peanut that didn't feel so-special anymore Why do grown-ups feel like the bigger people, again?
So that leaves me with one silly little question, Am I the peanut or the shell?
"I..I don't know If you still hear me, But I still hear you And I miss that side of me That you were a part of, I didn't mean to leave you behind But you're better off As a figment of my imagination, Maybe then the world Would not be after you
I'm hopeless... Literally." She cried out
But I couldn't reach out to comfort her , I needed her to believe that she deserved me, but despair had already woven itself around the mask she never dared to remove , taking her away , trapping her away as the world watched in silence
Wasn't the feeling of hope enough? Wasn't "I" , the feeling of hope , enough?....
Never, Do you hear me--" I blurted out , yet again my voice(was it really a voice?) was lost in her abandonment, even the silence didn't stay , it walked away with her.
"What were you to her?" The world questioned.
"I don't know what I was to her But to me, She was the star I was born from A small sparkle that revolved Around her burning expanse"
I muttered and turned away,
"And when everyone left her, She decided to leave me behind Why do I pay for their mistakes? I only wanted to exist for her But she wanted to exist for them ... I-it's not e-easy being a feeling, That's not supposed to be felt That's not supposed to be trusted That's only m-meant to dissapoint eventually." I whispered.
"I don't think I quite understand" The world questioned again
"Oh I'm sorry I don't think I introduced myself the way I was expected to" Faintly smiling into the void , I continued "I'm hope, A lost cause at the moment You might have heard about me--" I slightly glanced at the world , but I guess it had already stopped listening , for despair had gotten it's attention now.
(So I guess I tried something new , don't know if it worked Hee hee) Edit:Part 1?
This sunset feels like a brook of wine and I'm sitting on the rooftop watching the memories come back to me from the sangria of skyline. My journal, now decades old, is fluttering in the gentlest breeze. The white pages, already yellow by now acquires a shade of purplish orange every evening once. Its nothing new. This has happened everyday since the time we met and beyond that. I lie there, waiting for the dusk and then the darkness. The chronology looks familiar to my life. Beautiful sunset, a dark but beautiful dusk and finally one whole dark sky. ( Stars and moon have pity on me and make it bright in blotches on those stretch of darkness)
You used to tell me your stories and I used to tell mine. I remember when you said that this moment may not last forever but this serenity of sunset will never cease to make you feel better. I don't know if I want to cry or smile; love you a little more or forget you forever.
I don't watch the couples walking hand in hand in the street anymore but look at the lost souls who are trying to walk on the path that'll take them home. I hope that this is what they find at the end of this road. I know their eyes. The homeless ones. Because this is what I see in the mirror everyday.
And you know the strangest similarity? Some of them look at the sunset with love, but then a gloomy face overtakes it and then they look down, probably on the scattered pebbles beneath. Isn't it the same chronology again? The one I mentioned before.
I wonder if the breeze; the colours that slowly fill the sky from the west are mere playlists of happy and sad memories for all the souls that adore it. Because for me , this is what it is. . . . The fleeting clouds will vanish soon. But the sky is permanent. A person may leave you any day, but the memories are an eternal gift.
_________________________________________________ @_rainfrost_ thank you for the beautiful lines and pictures ❤️ #rf_licon_ch
Luckily I found the same pic for 3rd one and just wrote it down :D
You live in memories of things that never happened to you. Calling delusions your home and portraying realities as fiction, has kept you alive in those words. It's time to let go.
Few lies are precious to the soul. They are the foundations of happiness that may never come. It's in these false hopes we quench our thirst of wanting more. It's time to see things for the way they are supposed to be seen.
Every time you decide to look ahead, a part of you drags you back. Soon you give up on those dreams as if your eyes were never destined to see them. It's time to wipe away those tears and begin again.
Somethings never come to an end. Maybe it's good or maybe it's bad, but somewhere in between of this chaos everything makes sense. You get to decide which things matter and which ones don't. It's time to hold onto the things that stayed by your side, when no one did.