Give heaven some hell...

Oh my dear universe, what have we gotten ourselves into now? I know this is what I wished for, and the thrill of it actually coming true is beyond measure, but still ... I cannot know for certain where all of this will end. And ironically enough, this was never the initial plan - I am literally just following your lead. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of failure. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

He's all I want to be...

Letting go means to come to the realisation 

that some people are a part of your history, 

but not a part of your destiny.

I hope you lead me safely to the shore. I hope you can be nice to me, just nice and nothing more. I hope you vanquish this tornado of sores. I don't ask the sun to be always shining. I don't ask the day to be much longer. I don't ask the guiding stars to be brighter. I don't ask for more flowers or more powers. I don't ask the sky to be clear from clouds, so no rain of misery and frustration to be found. All I ask for is some peace around. All I ask for is some peace of mind.

Numb little bug...

Do you ever get a little bit tired of life?

Like you're not really happy,

but you don't wanna die.

Like you're hanging by a thread,

but you gotta survive.

Like your body's in the room,

but you're not really there.

Like you have empathy inside,

but you don't really care.

Like you're fresh outta love,

but it's been in the air.

Am I past repair?

We can do it too, believe it...

One right now...

He was amazed by the fact that he was not the only writer living, not the only young man with a locomotive in his chest, not the only youth with a million hungers and not one of them appeasable, not the only one who is lonely among multitudes, and does not know why.

There's always a siren, singing us to shipwreck. A dark voice telling us we're not good enough and that it is in fact, not going to work out at all. Some of us may be more susceptible than others, but there's always a chilling whisper following our journey. It may be with us all our lives, or it may be many years before we find it or it finds us. But when it does rear its treacherous road, if we're lucky we're Odysseus tied up to the ship's mast, hearing the song with perfect clarity, but ferried to safety by a crew whose ears have been plugged with beeswax. If we're not at all lucky, we're another sort of sailor stepping off the deck to drown in the sea.

As the world unfolds before...

To the moon...

Time goes by, time comes along, all is old and all is new; what is right and what is wrong? You must think and ask of you; have no hope and have no fear, waves that rise can never hold. If they urge or if they cheer, you remain aloof and cold. To our sight a lot will glisten, many sounds will reach our ear; who could take the time to listen, and remember all we hear? Keep aside from all that patter, seek yourself, far from the throng, when with loud and idle clatter, time goes by, time comes along. Nor forget the tongue of reason, or its even scales depress when the moment, changing season, wears the mask of happiness. It is born of reason's slumber, and may last a wink as true: for the one who knows its number, all is old and all is new.

Spare me the sympathy...

I wake up to the sounds of the silence that allows,

for my mind to run around,

with my ear up to the ground.

I'm searching to behold,

the stories that are told,

when my back is to the world,

that was smiling when I turned.

I keep getting visions...

I want to be the one you turn to for guidance and comfort. I want to create things that become a source of stability for people I love, some sort of home they can always come back to. I want to write paragraphs  that you can read until your eyes are sore. I want you to listen to songs in your headphones on a lonely night bus, taking you somewhere far far away, and be reminded that you are never truly alone. I want to be so sure of my own place in the universe that no one could ever doubt me. What I'm about or what I'm here to do. I want to be a safe heaven in a sea of worries and uncertainty. I want to stand for clarity where only chaos seems to grow.

Today I woke up a fighter...

As it was...

Moments never stay, whether or not you ask them, they do not care, no moment cares, and the ones you wish could stretch out like a hammock for you to lie in, well, those moments leave the quickest and take everything good with them, little burglars, those moments, those hours, those days you loved the most.

I'll tell you what I miss. I miss that throbbing heart telling me to take a leap when the sky looks too dark. I miss the walks that I took in the narrow cobblestoned pathways that fumed of history and undying stories of love and loss. I miss the coffee that scented like mist in a frozen dream in a land of strange beauty. I miss that symphony of mad evenings ending in a sky full of stars to fill my soul with an unknown ecstasy. I miss that hand of an old woman trying to tell me her story. I miss that night where I lay back on a distant balcony gazing at the solitary moon for hours knowing that it is shining back home just as bright. And I'll tell you now when I look back I see how wonderful time has treated me and how grateful I am to have lived in moments that roar of a beautiful life lived with a heart throbbing to take a leap once again in that ocean of a beguiling journey.

Keep me warm, love me long, be my sunlight...

On the count of three...

If I would allow me, I would like to give you a piece of advice. Whatever you do, don't wait around for inspiration, it's for amateurs. Because if you wait around for the clouds to part and a bolt of lightning to strike, you are going to be waiting around doing nothing for quite awhile. I've found that all my best ideas have come as a result of a process; they come out of the work itself. If you just start getting your hands dirty, something will eventually occur to you and then something else will pop up and something else that you reject will push you in another direction. Inspiration is absolutely unnecessary and somehow deceptive. There is no great idea waiting behind the clouds for you to see and grasp. All there is, is you. And the work you're willing to put in.

Behold the stories that are told...

Your words up on the wall 

as you're praying for my fall,

and the laughter in the halls,

and the names that I've been called.

I stack it in my mind,

and I'm waiting for the time,

when I show you what it's like,

to be words spit in a rhyme. 

All I want to be...

Every challenge I've faced, every turn life has thrown at me, I always try to remind myself of the lessons I learned through the stories I lived and even those I only witnessed. Lessons of fate and destiny and how the impossible is worth fighting for, no matter how long it takes. Lessons about how if I am loud and persistent enough, the universe heeds my call - albeit in unconventional ways. And also the most relevant ... every time I am walking home late at night, there is only one moon in the sky looking down on me. That moon that lights my path ... that very same moon is my fate. I am so thankful that in all the stories of the world, it chose to be mine.

As it was...