She's...

She has a pair of cautious eyes, been awake since day one,

And an aware mind, more prepared than what lays behind her ribs was once,

Where the bruises stay, and wounds bleed at times.

All to welcome the night: the crescent moon and the stars that shine.

"Is she crying?"

It’s not about the darkness that creeps, but more to the silence that follows,

Because in silence she’d remember things she’s been trying to swallow,

Not him, or those memories he’s in,

It is the unrequited longing, and the pain it brings.

"Or is it raining?"

She’d spent hours watching the ceiling, thinking,

Of the what-if-s, if-only-s, how-s, why-s, all the wondering,

She'd let the questions hits her like an auto-replay, pictures of him would come and run,

But her eyes stay dry, she breathes normally, almost numb.

"There are clouds in her eyes,"

But at times, in one of those silences that accompany the night,

She’d let her cautiousness fades and awareness sleeps,

With eyes closed, falling tears, and a bleeding wound that kills.

"It’s falling, falling..."

A post inspired by a song

Me + You

Sometimes I think,

if we like too many common things,

we might end up liking each other.

But then he said,

"As much as I want, or had it in my dreams,

you've fell for him, and I can't forget about her."

Love Journey

I walked too fast on those first steps the day I began my journey, so fast that I'm walking too slow for now, too tired to catch up, satisfied enough to see others passing by.

Some walk hand-in-hand, side by side, others have someone waiting for them a few steps ahead.

There were times when I see someone on what seems like the end of the heavenly long stairs, waiting for me.

But then the man waved a hello to a woman behind me, and by then, the closer I get, the further the edge of the stairs seemed, and it made me realize, that the end of the journey is still a long way to go.

At hard times, I'd take a sit, straighten my legs down those steps, it always feels good, taking a rest like that. But then I'd be too lazy to continue climbing the stairs up, assuming days spent daydreaming would taste better instead.

But the wooden-stairs is not an escalator, neither is my life, and daydreaming won't get me anywhere near anyone I'd be willing to daydream about or with the whole time.

So slowly, I lift my tired legs up, forcing them to take baby steps up and ahead as I rewind the lines they used to say to me each time I feel like giving up, "the stairs will end somewhere, and when it does, your endeavor to find him will worth the waiting".

inspired by a post thoughtfully written