Midnight Star

I have drunk words/ hoping the void inside my scattered soul/will be filled up/ but I am still empty , existing like a haunting echo

[paper-wounds]

[highonwords]

Another year has come through the door and my heart hugs your name a little harder , soaking in every bit of warmth it radiates. I remember the fight we had couple of days ago and the ones before that and I remember typing down a line " even in silence , nothing echoes louder than your name , moving through the hallway burried under my ribcage". And the truth is your presence has been engraved too deep into my system- which makes me confused sometimes about where do I end and where do you begin. It's not about losing my personality , it's just bending myself at the right places and blunting the rough edges around the right corner to fit into the puzzle , right beside you. But fitting also means helping you cut out the unnecessary parts from your piece and teach you how to bend just 73° to meet my rounded angle at 107°.And somewhere between all these learning and unlearnings , 2023 has silently turned into 2026 and the boundary between me and you blended a little bit more than before. As the new year smiles upon us , waiting for us to take a step into the mist of unknown and all its unexpected turns , I want you to know that - if the nights ever become too cold or the days feel unbearably silent , just remember there is someone who has already made a deal with God to keep you safe , to keep you happy and who is willing to make hundred deals more without hesitation - if it means those brown eyes will never lose their sparkle.

[highonwords]

I look at him and there are stars burning inside the fissures of his sunlit brown iris.

[highonwords]

Sometimes I want to bottle up his voice

and drink it to numb the chilling pain-

when the demons in my wretched head start chewing on my flesh.

[highonwords]

You said you would kill those monsters who haunts my memory , what if they are fragments of my soul? Will you kill me then or will you give them shelter under the warm shade of your affection? What if I am made of countless broken promises and a vengeful heart? What if there is blood in my tears , blood that yearns for revenge? Will you wield the sword for me while I hide behind the shield of thorns?

[highonwords]

"I don't like to doze by the fire. I like adventures, and I am going to find some."

-Jo March

[highonwords]

My love for you remains as infinite as the stars.

- Mark Anthony

[highonwords]

"And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality,I'd find you and I'd choose you."

- THE CHAOS OF STARS , KIERSTEN WHITE

[highonwords]

'I shall write it in my diary to-night.'

'What?'

'That a burnt child loves the fire.'

- The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde

[highonwords]

I will not be "famous," "great." I will go on adventuring, changing, opening my mind and my eyes, refusing to be stamped and stereotyped. The thing is to free one's self: to let it find its dimensions, not be impeded.

- Virginia Woolf, A Writer's Diary

[highonwords]

How much better is silence; the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here for ever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.

- Virginia Woolf,The Waves

[highonwords]

"Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again."

- Homer, The Iliad

[highonwords]

I am a cage, in search of a bird.

- Franz Kafka

[highonwords]

What does the brain matter compared with the heart?

- Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

[highonwords]

When writers die they become books, which is, after all, not too bad an incarnation.

[As attributed by Alastair Reid in Neruda and Borges, The New Yorker, June 24, 1996; as well as in The Talk of the Town, The New Yorker, July 7, 1986]

- Jorge Luis Borges

[highonwords]

I was raised among books, making invisible friends in pages that seemed cast from dust and whose smell I carry on my hands to this day.

- Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind (The Cemetery of Forgotten Books, #1)

[highonwords]

That's the power of literature, you know, it can act like little love letters between two people who can only explain their feelings by pointing at other people's.

- Fredrik Backman, Anxious People