“If you love a flower, don’t pick it up. Because if you pick it up it dies and it ceases to be what you love. So if you love a flower, let it be.Love is not about possession. Love is about appreciation.”
— Osho (via quotemadness)
Oh you again. Every time I see it working you come knockin’ uh? You know I’m going to embrace you fully, you know I’m weak. You know I’m gonna hide behind you. And yeah it will hurt momentarily but it sure will help out in the long run. I’ll be alone therefore I won’t have any worries, free as a bird right? And sure... It will be nice to engage in something beyond the casual “hello“ and the get drunk and go to each others separate homes.But you know better than I. You know me better than I do.
Midnight chills hitting on a spring afternoon. How much of this should I let destiny decide? How much of this requires a helping hand? How much does it matter either way? And am I the only one wondering? The pursue of something this ambitious must come to a perfect ending. But how can perfection be interpreted through our faulty lenses? Is the darkness I see merely shadows cast by the light of success? Is it working? Do you get it as much as I do? Do you care as much as I do? And am I using the format of a question as a way to express what my gut already knows? I know not, but maybe you do.
Circles of my inner thoughts in a constant battle with the straight lines of reality. Realizing oneself isn’t just oneself but rather the illusion of a single soul. We become different given different situations. And in the search for consistency we consistently find ourselves contradicting what we previously believed. How can one describe his or hers ways of being if neither one of them really knows? How are we expected to function without knowing how we function? We’re not. Instead, we’re expected to create standards, whether we agree with them or not. Having a route to follow even if its destination is unknown is, to societies view, better than no route at all. Having resolutions, creating the illusion of progress seems to be nowadays “norm“. And who are we to contradict this, after all... Why would we be right and they be wrong?
Upon a new horizon, I ponder about how familiar it is. It’s not that I don’t find it beautiful, it’s about how much of that beauty I’ve seen before. We’re beings of routine, even if we don’t notice it. How much of this is routine? How much of this admiration is a product of my faulty nature? I wanna trust this, I wanna trust you, but above all I wanna trust myself. I’m not a great person and I wonder when that will settle with you. I hurt, push and disappoint. It’s something that I do because it’s easier than trying, there’s no commitment that comes with it. I don’t wanna fool myself with the greatness of the moment and allow you to fall for someone that will only last till his bipolar being comes and ruins it.
Recognition was all I asked for.
Deprived of what past sentences tried to convey. I saw it way before I realized it. I knew it way before I felt it. Blinded by the light of your continuous illusion I marched forward toward something greater than anything we could ever be. I saw something in us bigger than any of us, bigger than what there was. I knew not better, and neither did you. Only a fool would waste time trying to point out the guilty one. But guilt requires intention, intention which you clearly didn’t care enough for. This was my own trap, I built it, cherished it and fell in it. Recognition was all I really asked for.
by buttsandbeard
“One of the many fascinating things about poetry is that the reader does not know for whom it was written - And sometimes, Nor does the poet.”
— a.y. (via inksomniac)
As a child I was bad. As a teenager I was bad. Even in your dying breath I was bad. When you’re told something as many times as you did... You fall into the comfort of believing it. Once you believe it it’s only a matter of time until it becomes reality. And reality it has become. I’m not mad though, I’m thankful. A madman you saw in me, and let me tell you: I wouldn’t disappoint you nowadays. Farewell Mother.
