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Literature Text
Dearest,
I've missed you today,
the way I miss you on most days.
Again you were tirelessly running
through my mind, arising randomly
on the forefront of my thoughts
and I was searching for your head
among the clouds.
The minute you leave constrains me
craving for your presence by my side
so it is unquestionably impossible
to see you as much as I'd like to.
But whenever I do stumble upon you,
you don't seem as lighthearted
as you could be, you know,
your smile isn't as carefree
as I know it.
Darling, are you feeling blue? Tired? Stressed?
Are you perhaps doubting yourself, your dreams and ambitions and this whole life?
If I am right, if my depiction is
lucky enough - or unlucky, in this
special case - to be the truth, it would
not change anything about my feelings.
It's just that I am distraught for seeing you like that and I am feeling so very helpless.
Could I, maybe, would you allow me
to touch your shoulder and say
"forget for a minute how small I must seem to you -
I can fight, too. For you, I will.
For you, I want to help carrying that weight
you seem to be dragging along with you.
Please.
For only a smile of yours would mean happiness."
- or, if you don't want to hear it - I'll stay quiet.
Me,
I want
so many things.
I haven't yet learnt to be modest
with my wishes and maybe I never
will. Do you want to hear what I am
wishing for?
YOU.
I want to see you, feel you, touch you, give myself away to you without thinking about it twice.
You are - for me -
an obsession, maybe, a smile and hundreds of feelings,
you are the sea, the most beautiful desert and the darkest woods.
You are everything, all at once.
Everything, my dear.
Why don't you take my hand? And
look at me once more. Tell me something,
anything, talk to me, because I -
I adore the sound of your voice and every moment in which your eyes meet mine.
Only for a minute, I wanted to stop
the day to send you some greetings,
some wishes, some kisses.
If you wonder about it,
I am still missing you.
Yours truly.
I've missed you today,
the way I miss you on most days.
Again you were tirelessly running
through my mind, arising randomly
on the forefront of my thoughts
and I was searching for your head
among the clouds.
The minute you leave constrains me
craving for your presence by my side
so it is unquestionably impossible
to see you as much as I'd like to.
But whenever I do stumble upon you,
you don't seem as lighthearted
as you could be, you know,
your smile isn't as carefree
as I know it.
Darling, are you feeling blue? Tired? Stressed?
Are you perhaps doubting yourself, your dreams and ambitions and this whole life?
If I am right, if my depiction is
lucky enough - or unlucky, in this
special case - to be the truth, it would
not change anything about my feelings.
It's just that I am distraught for seeing you like that and I am feeling so very helpless.
Could I, maybe, would you allow me
to touch your shoulder and say
"forget for a minute how small I must seem to you -
I can fight, too. For you, I will.
For you, I want to help carrying that weight
you seem to be dragging along with you.
Please.
For only a smile of yours would mean happiness."
- or, if you don't want to hear it - I'll stay quiet.
Me,
I want
so many things.
I haven't yet learnt to be modest
with my wishes and maybe I never
will. Do you want to hear what I am
wishing for?
YOU.
I want to see you, feel you, touch you, give myself away to you without thinking about it twice.
You are - for me -
an obsession, maybe, a smile and hundreds of feelings,
you are the sea, the most beautiful desert and the darkest woods.
You are everything, all at once.
Everything, my dear.
Why don't you take my hand? And
look at me once more. Tell me something,
anything, talk to me, because I -
I adore the sound of your voice and every moment in which your eyes meet mine.
Only for a minute, I wanted to stop
the day to send you some greetings,
some wishes, some kisses.
If you wonder about it,
I am still missing you.
Yours truly.
Literature
Untitled 9.9.23
The path is never as we plan it to be nor can we predict the magnitude of choice
Literature
Beauty of Snow
Snow oh what a beautiful show painting the world in a winter wonderland for all to behold. Creating fun for everyone for adults and the little ones. For as snowballs whirl overhead and marshmallows swirl in a cup of hot coco there's a sense of tranquility in every home. That makes the cold feel less bitter and people's hearts a little warmer. Making winter a little more bearable Even in the dark.
Literature
virtual reality life game multiplayer mode
a preferential necessity, rank what is of most value to you all the rest is ignorable cannon fodder to life, easy to overlook like a song you don't really like in a album you listened to once and forgot about in a week that kind of connection, barely there if you cannot give it your all then rush through it, speed read pages on a book, text blocks on a screen you don't even pause- to think because there was no thinking even instinctively you walk the plank blindfolded your heart you know it really wants to sing but life has value. it's short and so you list, i list out of utilitarianism, a list of what needs to be clutched onto with a dead grip, and what is disposable
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This is my entry to the contest "Letters to Love"
- all the details can be found in this news article here [link]
Really a quite fitting contest, since I am in such a romantic mood. Or, well, you could call it being sappy I suppose. Fact is, inspiration strikes the very instance someone mentiones "love", and writing a love-letter (for this is exactly what this piece of writing is to me) without using the word itself was a challenge, but one that left me with the words pouring forth from my brain.
It was fun to write this
I couldn't contain myself putting it in the form of a free-verse poem. It's still a letter though, just... a slightly unusual one. Just like the person I am dedicating this to is a very special one, too.
8th of February 2011.
- all the details can be found in this news article here [link]
Really a quite fitting contest, since I am in such a romantic mood. Or, well, you could call it being sappy I suppose. Fact is, inspiration strikes the very instance someone mentiones "love", and writing a love-letter (for this is exactly what this piece of writing is to me) without using the word itself was a challenge, but one that left me with the words pouring forth from my brain.
It was fun to write this
I couldn't contain myself putting it in the form of a free-verse poem. It's still a letter though, just... a slightly unusual one. Just like the person I am dedicating this to is a very special one, too.
8th of February 2011.
© 2011 - 2024 miserabel
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A. MAZING.