#writerblrcafe

[unmondefou]

let me be your coffee

for you won't find anything

tastier than me.

and I promise

to turn your wake up

into a beautiful

sleepless night.

--- h.harouche

[elegiesuponyourgravestone]

follow my facebook page, Elegies upon your Gravestone ♥︎

[heartofmuse]

Truth is that the heart needs more forms of love from your partner than just romantic love. It needs the nurturing and unconditional love like the one that comes from a parent. It needs the love that helps you achieve your maximum potential, that empowers your virtues and is patient with your flaws like that of a teacher. It needs the love of a friend who will listen without judgment, who will laugh with you and be your confidant and accomplice. It needs the devoted love of a healer who will tend to your wounds and hurts and never turn a blind eye to your suffering but rather help the healing process knowing all the time the healing and the timing is all yours. Love is more than just romance and passion, and sooner or later it will die out if you do not nurture all the other faces of love. For if love has a thousand faces, how bland would it be if my love for you were the same one all the time. 

e.v.e.

[wordlessea]

If this is love, I don’t want it.

[meaningfall]

———

C. A. Singh • Like Every Room

9-25-25

[beforeyearning]

[mirrorworld12]

If I count people as bridges how many bridges do we cross to finally be at home ?The home where comfort is not short lived ,where there is no ghost who goes for your bones . Where there is light and darkness all together but no fear? How many hearts do I count till I reach one that is not guarded with thorns . A heart that doesn't make my hands bleed. How many years till I can finally lay in bed that fit perfectly throughout all the seasons of life. If I count a year as a lifetime ,how many lives I have lost to find the home ? How much of me is left behind in each heart that I called home ? How long should I walk ?

[palladiumfragments]

a wisp of smoke

the summer when it dawned on me that i’m no longer thinking of you, i was sitting on the balcony of some hotel watching the wind ruffle the surface of the charcoal sea. it felt strange, almost like committing a cardinal sin, to find no traces of you in me. i remember the grief, the solace that came shortly after, but most of all the guilt—because where do i lay to rest the habit of using every lovely thing i see, like the gentle waves breaking softly towards the shore below, as a metaphor for you?