i am in love with the solitude i’m left with.

it never leaves me be.

with every passing day i wonder more,

what really becomes of love.

how selfish is one’s need for love,

how cunning can kindness be,

in love is the sky with the soil beneath it,

how ironic that they never meet.

so time will pass as so will i,

with love for an excuse to end or survive,

how typical whether i agree or deny,

love is always the realest thing.

The Window.

We’re constantly waiting for a beautiful change to come our way, “Somehow one day, it will all be worth it.”;

and so we are constantly telling ourselves lies of the better tomorrow,

of the moments worth living for, of the future that rewards our scarring past.

out of the moments I’ve already miserably survived, out of the moments that I’ll cherish this misery in a most dreaded future, I can tell I will cherish this moment right now,


for this window of stillness and mixes of heaven and hell, this window that sends this moment with me, knows that today is what is here and now, the air in my lungs, the senses of touching and feeling, the eyes that witness wonders and the world that let’s me exist;

they make me feel alive and young; today. I realise, this will be a constant fight against melancholy and a constant urgency to endure most, but damn, thank God for such a lovely today.