ksparks

I see relationships establish and fall apart. Some seem beautiful on the surface, but few of them are pure. Sometimes, people love because they love themselves and that is the first mistake in falling in love. Falling in love is a human invention and to those who have ever lived, it comes to us as naturally as breathing. Your love saved me and it was because of you that I began to see a world beyond myself. Suddenly, the past didn't drag alongside myself. Pain had washed away into the gutter and fear ceased to exist. I don't expect you to fix me or validate me and I don't think you expect me to do anything more than to respect you. I w

I withhold my pain from others as a favor. The burden of what keeps my mind churning may deem overwhelming Yet, I would like someone to take a moment and ask me of my sorrows. I'm asking the impossible, to be understood. And when I thought I had built enough faith in someone, they find a way to deceive my heart. I cry alone and watch how I desperately push people away from my real self. At the same time, I despise myself for doing so. I fear taking the risk of having a person get to know me. For this, I see myself selfish. My deception only hurts myself in the end, but I still want to believe I am a victim of this world. My thoughts are disg

I can't confess my love for you easily. It takes sick, twisted tortures to make me feel. Sometimes, I forget I exist. I don't see myself in the mirror, but I pay attention to the shadows objects cast. The light that bleeds through tree branches are all I've ever wanted to be. I relate more to clouds than to people. I emit frequencies in the form of ocean waves. There is a little bit of sadness behind everything I say.

Sometimes, I lose the capacity to maintain myself. My emotions get the best of me and I wish they wouldn't. There is an uncontrollable desire to plea for help, but I know nobody will listen to me. I speak with feelings, but only get stares. The only strength I have is my ability to hold back tears. My mind is source of constant torment. Not even nostalgia can save me. To have been given life is a privilege. And yet, I mistake it for realm of suffering. I would rather drown just to prove myself right. Nobody will save me.

Spiritual awakening begins with a sip of hot coffee. A return to the real, the moment when you realize your senses exist. They live through you to experience today. Your body is not you but a tool, a vehicle which to guide you through this world. Without it, you are nothing. You are not your body. Somewhere, in between the physical and the mental lies a transit system. Conjunctions will speak for themselves. I live through my body. Within this chamber I live among the physical and revert back to my soul. What is the soul, anyway? The soul is the universe; and it is within you and everyone we know. Today, I woke up wanting a cup of coffee.

Things happen and sometimes they happen to you. I am only sorry that you can't find it in yourself to forgive me, otherwise you wouldn't be asking me for an apology. (As if my words were to suddenly undo my mistakes, heal your wounds, and let go of the past.) If you knew what it meant to be human, you'd figure this out for yourself. I didn't have to resort to writing to let you know that people will fail you.

The burden in my heart goes out to a man who I barely knew and yet, his presence has touched me in an unusual manner. I always remembered him smiling and this alone brings some solace to the uneasiness I feel tonight. But as I have recently learned of the circumstances in which his life had been taken away from us, I cringe at the gruesome reality we have the misfortune of neighboring. A crime done by someone who feared what he didn't know and provoked by his own ignorance. A black man murdered for reasons I can't bring myself to rationally explain because I do not possess a hateful heart. An issue I have uncomfortably realized stil

You are let down when people come up with more beautiful metaphors for people who have blue or green eyes. But let me tell you this: Your eyes remind me of coffee. Your mystery is alluring and your touch is warm and powerful. This may be my infatuation speaking for me, but I wouldn't mind taking sips of you. I told you I hate how you look at me. I really meant to say, "I would love to look back at you without feeling so goddamn shy." Beyond your dark eyes, I can't see through you. It is precisely because of this I want to know more about you. Your gaze is the beginning of a new day and coffee sounds lovely.

I walk this world as an outsider, not a human being. Keeper of literature I have read, but not lived. To evade intimacy and avoid vulnerability. To absorb myself in bad memories, instead of good company. I thought I had lost my chance to know what love was about early on. But whenever I am with you, I remember how to feel again.

Disturbed by a sudden clank, the cat rose from her slumber and instead of falling back asleep she stared into nothingness and relished in the atmosphere that described what she couldn't say about the sound.