I have a thing for rain
All the stories of pain
Shadows concealing your grief
A mysterious fury the soul
I have a thing for wind
All the mistakes of thirst
Secrecy trailing desire
A provocative tryst the skin
2.6.15 | 4.39PM
The hand I’m using to write this down will be cut off soon. Day after tomorrow, in particular. But I can still use a voice recognition software to save my thoughts virtually. Or, this I prefer, I can ask someone to write them down for me.
When you truly love something, you will always find a way for it. Remember that, bro.
The paper on the sidewalk contained that note. He ignited a dying flame in my discouraged heart. Now I wanna do theater again.
Daily Post’s Everything Changes.
The girl is bored. She wants to fly, run away, escape, and be free from all the limitations preventing her to live her life the way she wants to.
A life full of sins and wrongdoings.
She pictures herself stealing some rope down her best friend’s hardware store and tying the man, who sexually assaulted her, naked on a tree with the constrictor knot she just learned doing. That would be the bravest (and stupidest) thing she’s ever done and the most fulfilling revenge she could think of.
A life centered to herself.
She won’t just listen anymore. Gone are the times when she will put her responsibilities first than what she truly wants to do. The guilt building inside her will be forgotten. Her pleasure is more important than the honor she brings to her family.
A life outside this four walled room.
She fancies signing an apartment lease in another country where she can be anything she desires to be. Don’t get her wrong, she loves her room so much as it is the only thing she considers home; but sometimes you have to leave home, and find another one.
The dull sound of the bell that signifies dinner’s ready rang three times, pulling her back to the present. Today’s traveling to the future is a good one, thought the bored seventeen year old girl.
What a life!
Writing 101’s Task: A story in a single image & Recreate a single day.
I’m tired of looking at something I can’t have. I constantly block my senses from working—my eyes from seeing, the thought from coming, and the feelings(!)—almost hating them for functioning properly. But the itch on my heart just keeps growing, gently and then suddenly.
I’m tired of living in the back of my mind instead of walking with reality. My body is hungry and it’s craving for something definite, something real. But the world I made for myself is bewitching.
I’m tired of wanting prohibited dreams. People. And things. But my ears stubbornly listen to my articulate brain talking its way through things by teaming up with my very desires.
We’re tired of liking something we can’t have. But we do it anyway. Because the thought of it is thrilling, our eyes spark for it’s fireworks that we see, and the feelings(!), unlike any that we know of. We’re tired, but we keep on thinking anyway. For it deceives our minds and makes us happy for a moment; happy because of an imagination and even though happiness is a myth. We’re tired but we keep on wanting, on yearning the prohibited. Because no matter how much we try to fool ourselves that everything will be better if we follow the right track, the impalpable forces will pull us back to show us what we truly love.
To illustrate a lady
weeping through a canvas
with sorrow on her eyes
and her heart on the ground.
To draw the man I saw
on the cafe last Thursday
with his lovely profile
and the rare fashion style.
To sketch the judgments
of my unintelligent mind
along with the frail soul
in a body that will expire.
To paint those feelings
indefinable and abstract
with colors you will desire
and emotions that can fly.
To leave you hanging
on a room filled with aliens
gazing into my grand works
while realizing you never tried.
This is in response to the Daily Post’s writing prompt Practice Makes Perfect?.