Poetry

dormant feelings

Time will lead you back
to old conversations
long interpreted
to forced messages
accidentally deleted
to sweet words
never expressed.

Vaguely asking questions:
has the heart healed
is the love still there
did the pain go away
are feelings just dormant?

I hope in your mind the answers land.

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Photography

things get bleak

Some bridges burn
Some things get bleak
Some people hurt
Some friends don’t speak

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Bitter

We Repel

Maybe the reason why the people we love don’t love us back is because opposite attracts.

But you two were honed from the same pole and one will always be repelling the other.

Daily Post’s Magnet.

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Photography

8 hours

The sand is my bed
And the waves are my lullaby
The stars give me dreams
And the sun breathes me life

P.S. Just a short story about the photo and the micropoem:

I traveled alone again last May and the picture above was taken in Digyo Island. The night before, I was feeling a bit lonely as I haven’t got any friends around so I roamed the island. Eventually, I met the Rosinas family, they were very generous and I felt at ease right away. I even asked to sleep with them when I learned where they spend the night, along the shore and under the galaxy. When we woke up at 5am, this beautiful sunrise greeted us. Everything turned out for the best and I really felt one with nature during my stay. In a span of 8 hours, the sea and the stars and the sun accompanied me, and I never felt lonely again.

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Poetry

Achromatic

I rode a motorcycle this morning,
something I usually do.
When the sun hits my face
I closed my eyes,
something I barely do.

Opening them would be a surprise,
one thing I rarely get.
Everything was colorless
but I was sparkling,
something I never get.

It was all an illusion though,
and you were there.
Achromatic like everyone else
but I was sparkling,
and I’m always by myself.

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Poetry

a feeling of uncertainty

Oh how I want your hands
on my face, tracing the scars
delicately. I feel your heart
trembling against my skin
full of secrets. The whispers
to my mouth are wildflowers
from my lips. And your eyes
into my soul make me weak.

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Poetry

detachment

But in time
you’d understand
what kept me
from falling.

The wind
stopped blowing
for some time.

I walked away
tired and hopeless
from the edge
of the precipice.

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