I sat there wondering and questioning the quiet mind that felt at peace gazing through the waves that slowly danced through the shaky wind , that's what overthinkers do spoil their own peace by thinking too much I consoled myself.
I saw the waves letting the sunset rays shine through creating golden eye-soothing happiness even when it was unsure and unsettled to the shore.
The sun went beyond the horizon and took away golden happiness to a new destination and I wondered if could keep sailing upto the horizon so that I could catch back hope and golden happiness that seemed the hardest to hold these days.
Imagine if we had the magic to hold back time , I would have held the moment that wave created happiness even when it was unsure of settling on the right shore.
"We often find soothing happiness at times in life when we are not sure or hopeful if things could settle right , just don't let that happiness go away ."
the sky never seemed to care about what you feel. for a poetic touch, you gave it a color, a life, and a story that fits in your journal.
but it was never the same, always changing; from one color to another. blue to the orange to the red and sometimes, a bit too grey for your liking.
you chose a word to match the color and a few more for the clouds and the wind.
it's always blue when you begin, not too bright but not too sad peeking through the window to the beginning; a beginning that's so uncertain. but put a smile on your face, a tired little one where your lips barely move.
you don't know why, but grey always had a sad story to rain down. sometimes a gentle kiss on your numb body sometimes drowning you to death. but, it always had something sad about it.
sadness that always fits so perfectly about a long lost one, as it rains down to drench the streets and numb the pain of all the ones that look through a window and leave a sigh.
like a fine Claude Monet's painting, the sky bleeds into a perfect stroke of all the colors; but it's never the same the next day. silent, but tranquil moments of serendipity that lets you breathe. some endings are always more artistic than some beginnings.
the day strips down into the night to end the charade; there is too much dark between the stars. we turn on the artificial colors to fill the room, darkness always questioned your existence.
you always loved the night sky, my moonchild; when the sky lay bare against your eyes you wrote the best lines of all the things that never made sense in your head but somehow someone felt connected to like the stars that always stayed till the end.
a tiny dot in the endless space, awed by the wonders that hide from the sight. perhaps, some infinities are bigger than what we can comprehend. but you always wondered what the sky feels.
Drunk in emotions to my brim, from an amazing read (Not a poetic translation though, I simply tried to summarize it in my own words) #note_to_myself
Sometimes fate is nothing but a storm..
Sometimes fate is nothing but a storm.. You can't hide from it, nor escape it; The more you run away, the more it chases you. You change your way, the storm adjusts too.. You play the same game over and over, like some age-old tradition. In your mind you say "That's a terrible storm", but you know you're playing with it all the same. You don't like it, but you let it take over; There's no way you can get across it without having it destroy you. So you let it blow you off.. But it doesn't, why? Because this storm isn't something coming from outside or somewhere far away; This storm is you; it's all inside of you. So all you can do is to step right inside it; Close your eyes, plug-in your ears if you feel you can't take it no more. But go on, and walk through it; Taking one step at a time.. There ain't any sense of direction, No stars to look up to, No moon gazing at you.. Just a wavering wind, chiming at your soul, testing the best inside you; The storm keeps on blowing, Swirling your insides, up into the dark sky. That's the kind of storm you're in, Or more like, supposed to imagine yourself in.. Go on now, Feel the pressure of the wind against your skin; Let it draw closer, even if you feel it's going to swallow you up, You've got to make it through.. This violent, symbolic, metaphysical storm; That'll cut through you like a thousand blades. Go on, bleed with it, touch that blood with your very hands. For once the storm is over, you won't remember how your survived it. You won't even be sure if it's over yet. ~The only thing certain is You'll cease to be person you were before you stepped into it~ And that's precisely what this storm is all about.