Pages of Prose

Hi, I'm Mirage. A part-time novice writer and a full-time expert overthinker. I am by nature a lover of words, words that gives meaning to our feelings. Words are the infinite source of magic.

[pagesofprose]

I'm so laid back, i only care about like three things in the world:

1. books, hot chocolate, my favorite fictional character, coffee, rain, music, classic literature.

2. every person on this earth and their opinion of me.

3. the crushing psychological weight of being alive.

[pagesofprose]

Looking at the moon from your bedroom window is an emotion, an emotion that draws out longings even you aren't aware of.

[pagesofprose]

Life is limited.

There are so many books to read, so many places to be. It feels like there is so little time. And then you realize that your life, your existence, will one day come to an end. You think about how you're going to leave this world and what responsibility it gives you for living in it now. How do you want to be remembered? What does it mean to live a good life?

You see that there is only so much time left and suddenly the questions about life become more urgent than ever before.

_Mirage_

[pagesofprose]

i will never be a poem, beautifully written and composed i will never be a song, remembered and euphonious i will never be a novel, coherent and captivating

i will forever be the unwritten thought the half finished story

the long forgotten melody

[pagesofprose]

All is as if the world did cease to exist. The city's monuments go unseen, its past unheard, and its culture slowly fading in the dismal sea.

_Nathan Reese Maher_

[pagesofprose]

Suddenly I could not make sense of all that had happened in my life. As if I was losing my grip.

[pagesofprose]

I lied and said I was busy.

I was busy;

but not in a way most people understand.

I was busy taking deeper breaths.

I was busy silencing irrational thoughts.

I was busy calming a racing heart.

I was busy telling myself I am okay.

Sometimes, this is my busy -

and I will not apologize for it.

_Brittin Oakman_

[pagesofprose]

Despite what you’ve read, your sadness is not beautiful. No one will see you in the bookstore, curled up with your Bukowski, and want to save you.

Stop waiting for a salvation that will not come from the grey-eyed boy looking for an annotated copy of Shakespeare,

for an end to your sadness in Keats.

He coughed up his lungs at 25, and flowery words cannot conceal a life barely lived.

Your life is fragile, just beginning, teetering on the violent edge of the world.

Your sadness will bury you alive, and you are the only one who can shovel your way out with hardened hands and ragged fingernails, bleeding your despair into the unforgiving earth.

Darling, you see, no heroes are coming for you. Grab your sword, and don your own armor.

_Emily Palermo_

[pagesofprose]

Despite what you’ve read, your sadness is not beautiful. No one will see you in the bookstore, curled up with your Bukowski, and want to save you.

Stop waiting for a salvation that will not come from the grey-eyed boy looking for an annotated copy of Shakespeare,

for an end to your sadness in Keats.

He coughed up his lungs at 25, and flowery words cannot conceal a life barely lived.

Your life is fragile, just beginning, teetering on the violent edge of the world.

Your sadness will bury you alive, and you are the only one who can shovel your way out with hardened hands and ragged fingernails, bleeding your despair into the unforgiving earth.

Darling, you see, no heroes are coming for you. Grab your sword, and don your own armor.

_Emily Palermo_

[pagesofprose]

Driving, dogs barking, how you get used to it, how you make

the new street yours.

Trees outside the window and a big band sound that makes you feel like

everything's okay,

a feeling that lasts for one song maybe,

the parentheses all clicking shut behind you.

The way we move through time and space, or only time.

The way it's night for many miles, and then suddenly

it's not, it's breakfast

and you're standing in the shower for over an hour,

holding the bar of soap up to the light.

I will keep watch. I will water the yard.

Knot the tie and go to work. Unknot the tie and go to sleep.

I sleep. I dream. I make up things

that I would never say. I say them very quietly.

The trees in wind, the streetlights on,

the click and flash of cigarettes

being smoked on the lawn, and just a little kiss before we say goodnight.

It spins like a wheel inside you: green yellow, green blue,

green beautiful green.

It's simple: it isn't over, it's just begun. It's green. It's still green.

_Richard Siken; Crush(Yale Series of Younger Poets)_

[pagesofprose]

"How can I begin anything new with all of yesterday in me?"

_Leonard Cohen; Beautiful Losers_

[pagesofprose]

"But I do feel strange-almost unearthly. I'll never get used to being alive. It's a mystery. Always startled to find I've survived."

_John Steinbeck; Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters_

[pagesofprose]

"There are some people you'll never see again. At least, not in the same way."

_lain S. Thomas; I Wrote This For You_

[pagesofprose]

Tell me, even though I'm alive and I'm breathing why do I still feel like I'm dead inside? Am I really living? Or what am I? What is this feeling? I feel like something is trying to take me back in time, to an era where I belong.

[pagesofprose]

What do I want?

I want to be a mystery, yet be known

I want to be together, yet alone

Is it too much to ask, To be famous yet unknown?

To be a wanderer, yet have a home?

My insecurity makes me sick,

Yet my confidence makes me thick

Can I be harmless, yet grip the stick,

Be completely smooth yet have a nick?

Can I live in a lie, yet be true

Can I be unique, yet so like you?

Have no control, yet know what to do?

Can I be ugly, yet beautiful too?

Answer me, I need your help,

Can you help me or someone else?

I need your help, can't you see,

Are you even listening to me?

_Kara Douglas_

[pagesofprose]

For every person who thinks you're "too quiet" there's one who thinks you're an amazing listener. For every person who thinks you're "too clingy" there's one who loves how much and how openly you care about others. For every person who thinks you're "too weird" there's one who admires how you dare to stand out from the crowd. For every person who thinks you're "too sensitive" there's one who respects you for being so in touch with your feelings. For every person who thinks you're "too confident" there's one who thinks your self respect is an inspiration. What's a negative trait in one person's eyes might be exactly what someone else is looking for. It's not black or white.

_compassionatereminders_

[pagesofprose]

"We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy."

_George R.R. Martin; A Game of Thrones, A Song of Ice and Fire_