Telling you was
Now comes something
Far too easy that it scares me.
How much more can I say,
Before I start repeating myself?
Where does this beginning end,
To give way to the middle and
The bulk of this story being told?
At what parts do I prove
That I do in fact feel,
All the things I write to you?
Is this the story
Of how I bend over backwards
To reach what I have left in the past?
Or is this the one
Where I reach forwards and let
The tips of my fingers
Feel the loose threads of a future
Not quite stitched together yet?
To all those who stumble onto or follow my words.
I would like to know
Who you are.
Tell me your story.
I will listen.
I will care.
Some stories are worth telling a thousand times until they are never forgotten.
What miracles have you seen on your way to me?
Tell me about every single one of them.
Do not miss out on the smallest detail
For they bring stories worth telling.
Now let me put those words in the fragile folders of my mind.
And after they settle, tell me once again.
October is when the whispers of winter are heard.
I could sit outside all day and listen to the stories they bring.
Mostly they speak of cold lampposts in lonely streets but there a few that talk of families all huddled up in bed, warm mugs of milk in their hands and the laughter that they share.
Maybe that’s why it never gets as cold over there, even in the coldest places some of the stories made in them are too warm for the chill to bite in.
Maybe I’ll find myself in a place like that someday, cold and unforgiving where I will try and recall the warmest of stories and cover myself with a blanket of them.
Paper is important. It is the canvas on which we write the stories of our souls.
I haven’t had a thought like this in a while. Today has been a good day.
I live for the stories
Every night, I search for the traces of people lost and forgotten,
Except by those who love them still.
Even when only the traces of them remain, they still survive.
I search for these traces.
I find them and they make me cry.
They make me feel.
More Penguin Haiku <(“)
Penguin Haiku #12
I always listen
To sounds of pen on paper
I can hear the words
Penguin Haiku #13
You told me today
I wish I could write like you
Just pick up your Pen
Penguin Haiku #14
One thing I will need
Even after we both part
Is your blazing glow
Penguin Haiku #15
Music is a gift
Just like the kisses you give
Every single day
Penguin Haiku #16
When you feel alone
Open the bottle, my gift
Read the words inside
Penguin Haiku #17
We are both afraid
Of things we do not control
We fear this feeling
Penguin Haiku #18
All the words you speak
Every syllable uttered
Tells them our story
A short post on reasons why I do some of the things I do. And in the case of “The MInuri”, about to do <(“)
The first words that come to my mind are. I like to complicate things. I like to complicate things in a beautiful way. I’m not sure if it’s frustrating or maniacal to people but I want to see their faces all happy and confused.I want to do things in the craziest possible way to show that I care. To show that I love. I want to put in the effort to do something no one else would and see the look on their faces.That’s all I want. I just want to see their faces light up and go “What is wrong with you? Why? Oh My God” That is all I want. I want to show them that the beauty of what they give me has to be something worth remembering and the only way I know to do that is to give them a story to remember…
That’s all I have to give. A story.
I don’t exactly know why I am writing this…maybe it’s because I am trying to study the hopelessness that is chemistry. Well anyway this post is about letting go. And if you are reading this and you feel like this is about you then don’t worry, you’re probably wrong 😛
I’m wandering off again. Away from the neon lights and the noise of the crowds dancing in their iridescent glow. I hate the noise, the constant buzz of people saying useless things to each other. You’re a bit like that actually, something I am trying to get away from. Maybe it’s the way you speak that does it. Or maybe it’s that annoyingly smug grin of yours that I hate so much. Reminds me of those lights. They hurt my eyes whenever I am near them.
But these things would all go away if I could just let go. Just let go and wander off like I’m doing now. Let go of these things that are so frustrating and yet so beautiful to others. It makes me laugh to know that I think this way. There is a certain craziness to it. Maybe I’ll probably come back to this again someday or maybe I won’t. But it doesn’t really matter…’cause at this moment I’ve already started walking away.