painting memories with words @neptuneio - Tumblr Blog

You are going to laugh until your stomach hurts again. You're going to be in awe of a sunset. Watch your favorite show while you eat your favorite food. Find money on the street. Discover a great band you haven't heard of before. You will find your way back.

letsbelonelytogetherr

— sylvia plath (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

mournfulroses

Christa Wolf, from her essay collection titled "One Day a Year: 1960–2000," originally published in 2003

mournfulroses

Marina Tsvetaeva, from a diary entry featured in Earthly Signs Moscow Diaries, 1917-1922

roua-poemului

may your next lover be the reason you’ve waited and endured for so long.

shitbl0gger

things that cloud my mind at 2am (mostly things i didn't say that i probably would never be given the chance to)

they say that if my thoughts are strong enough it'd transmit to you and manifest in a visual form so i'm sorry. i'm sorry if you wake up late at night, troubled and confused. that was me trying to make a dream contact with you. i don't mean to disturb your sleep. i just want to remind you i'm still here.

i'm sorry you had to fill the crevices of my broken heart just so i won't be emptied of love again. i emptied you instead.

i can still picture you touching me in places no one else ever had. i imagine you kissing me like i was water, and you were a lonesome traveller who have ran out of supplies. i cling onto these memories but they are only silver strands of what once was, a poignant blur of the night i turned nineteen. and i know memories like they are my friends — they evanesce as quickly as they manifest.

i'm sorry if your name still wanders between the margins of my unsent letters to you. i'm sorry i wrote you in a miscellany of old and new poems. it's the only way i know to cope with your absence.

there are times when i feel unloved, as if all the universe conspired against me. i think of you and suddenly i am happier — just in a sad kind of way.

i understand that you're happy without me but i miss you. i miss you. i miss you. i still want you.

in my dreams, hope has been keeping me company — that someday you will be back, that our story is not over yet, that i can continue holding on to you, to us. but then i wake up and layers after layers of realization and sadness blanket me. how am i supposed to hold on to something that already let me go?

youy uou yout yoy yi8 ypu yiu YoU.

good night, good night, good night. i will embrace my pillows tight and pretend they're warm enough. good night, good night. i hope to wake tomorrow feeling... good — even without you by my side — night.

photo: 8bitfiction

the truth is, i will always look for you in every stranger i meet, in every faces i get a close up look to, in every couple pictures haphazardly pinned on the wall of our favourite coffee shop, in every paradox i encounter because you are a collection of paradoxes, a compilation of everything i need. i will always look for the warmth your hazel eyes held when you gazed at me and at all the people you love. and i will recognise you because i know you more than i ever knew anyone, because i loved you more than i was supposed to love you.

art from illustrations.ru

i have cried a river of regrets but even that won't bring him back

he told me not to believe in you who wrote your love for me on the palm of the night sky. you, who created a constellation only us could recognize. you, who got lost with me on the Milky Way when we sailed the universe. you, whom i spent my first date with at 8 o'clock while the stars and the moon witnessed the first kiss we shared.

he told me not to fall for you who wrote every inch of me between the gaps of your metaphors. you, who told me i am your favorite poetry and wrote me in every i love you's you left in all the places you went to.

he warned me about the man who would shower me with words but would only break my heart. he warned me about the man who would spend his tears in his pretense. he warned me about the man with eyes as blue as the cerulean sky and as deep as the mariana trench. he warned me about you. and despite knowing how true he was to his words, i didn't listen and chose to believe.

it turns out trevor was right after all.

art from illustrations.ru

after months of desuetude, i can finally take a step towards progress

of all the things i am knowledgeable about, i know my heart best. what it chooses to let in, what it declines, how it can make me turn against what i believe was right. my mind knew of the dangers of love — of you, my love — and tried its best, forced me even, to not let the efficacious ways of my treacherous heart win me over. but i was weak, vulnerable, and can't put up a fight.

one look from you and it took away my sobriety. i woke up the next morning drunk with love, with a throbbing headache from trying to stop myself, and mind ensnarled by thoughts of you. every day had always been that way ever since.

of all the things i know nothing about, i know you best. you were music, the one song that's stuck in my head. i am able to eloquently describe — but never explain — the melodies your heart speak, the symphonies that can never be written in sheets.

you are poetry in its entirety. the wistful words behind every stacks of paragraphs i've written. the ache behind my every piece. the letter that i bleed.

you are an ocean, a sheugh with an unknown depth. one that is vaguely familiar but familiar regardless. i was always on an expedition to discover more of you, and figured at the end that i only sailed a memorable voyage towards the oblivion.

i know not of the things that make up “you”, but i know you, nevertheless. and i... i know myself best. in my constant discovery of my heart's profound mysteries was how i knew that you weren't the best for me.

thoughts of wanting you back is clouding my mind

we grew apart

like the sun and the moon

you flew with the wind

towards the void

away from me

and i can only hope

that when the stars appear tonight

they will shine

your way to me

too bad, i'm not half as beautiful as her

i don't have a pretty face

but i hoped that my words

were beautiful enough

to make you stay

but it wasn't.

bring me back to the old times

when you held me with your loving arms,

when you told me tales about the moon,

when we planted seeds out of our storms,

when we were caught up in the midst of our abysmal frisson,

when you showered me with metaphors,

when your fingers kissed the ink

and your pen danced around to write my name,

when we sailed the universe,

when we painted memories with words.

please bring me back to the brief stretch of time

when the stars cascaded over the ocean

and kindled warmth into its depths.

bring me back to where my heart lies.

only then can i accept

that no matter my attempts to collide with you again,

some things are just better off apart.

papers filled with ink and tears

i don't know what i write

sometimes it's the scream of my pain

other times it's the voice of my happiness

sometimes it's the melody of the sunset

and the bright hues of dawn

sometimes it's the aroma of my favorite coffee

and the idyllic smell of old books

sometimes it's the things i refuse to believe

other times it's everything i didn't say

but most of the time, it's you.

i always write about you.

you will find yourself in every line

even with the absence of rhymes

in the pile of epistolaries i didn't send

in the trails of ink that i've wasted

just to spell your name

in my train of thoughts

and in every vein of my heart.

i always write about you

and it's killing me everytime

for i know that this letter will only join

the pile of envelopes that i will soon burn

together with the vague memory

of your love.

“the only love i'll ever know is the one that got away”

my wounds have coalesced

into a galaxy of supernovas

n' i don't abhor he

who gave them to me —

i have forgiven ourselves

there is a turbulence

of melancholy inside me

upon missing the chance

i should've taken for us

we could've been tree leaves

dancing with the rattling wind

fluttering smoothly

with the spasmodic melody

of our erratic heartbeats

we could've been tidal waves

kissing the shore

bringing sands as we become one

with the sea again

washing away the footprints in the sand

hoping it would as well wash away our pain

we could've been lovers

lying underneath the silent sky

wishing and dreaming

under a cascade of stars

as we fill the night

with ragged breaths

n' hushed voices

n' stifled laughters

we could've been

what we wanted us to be

if only i wasn't too afraid

to dive into a pool of uncertainty

n' be devoured

by your inconsistency.

(inspired by Parachute's Had it All)

my love for you robbed me my only means of catharsis, 03

you said you didn't just fell for me

because i showed you who i am

or who i want to be

but you also fell in love with every line

and spaces and every syllable

of every chosen word

in a brief stretch of the ghostly echo

of the world

you said you loved the way i express myself

using simple phrases and metaphors —

the way i write things

without having to use unfamiliar words

i think that was just to compensate

because you were planning to leave

with all of the afterglows

of what i thought was love

but were actually make-believe

you said you love reading them —

my proses, and long enough poetry

you promised me you wouldn't

but why did you deserted me?

maybe because my poetry

wasn't long and deep enough

that it fell into the muddle of incoherence

but

if

i

write

like

this,

will

this

be

long

enough,

will

it

make

a

difference?

my love for you robbed me my only means of catharsis, 02

i can't find the right words to say.

maybe i could start with

‘we write the things we want to forget

not the things we want to keep’

or not.

maybe i should start with

‘your words ruined me...’

wait. that is so cliché

(but that's the thing

the world is full of clichés)

i'm sorry.

i̶'m̶ t̶o̶r̶n̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶ c̶r̶u̶m̶p̶l̶e̶d̶ p̶i̶e̶c̶e̶ o̶f̶ p̶a̶p̶e̶r̶

i̶'m̶ k̶i̶s̶s̶i̶n̶g̶ m̶y̶ p̶e̶n̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶

i hate this.

my words don't flow from my brain

down to my fingertips

like it used to

and words,

these words...

they don't make sense to me anymore.

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