Curate, connect, and discover
With only the irregular rush of cars playing notes in the dark air, I think of how I've lived a thousand lives before and no experience of mine will ever be unique. Yes, it must be a curse to never know enough, but isn't it a greater burden, how with every try, memory brushes out of reach and I'm born anew, scribbling different patterns over the same black slate, mere Sisyphus rolling the stone back up, but not quite, yet again. In another lifetime perhaps my fingers bled more amply over the long gone green, but I shall never know, shall I? Soon, I too will fade again, like the stars burnt into my blood and at the edge of dawn, I'll become yet another familiar turn in someone's long forgone hometown. The same lover, hopeful yet and despite the ghost heartaches from previous lives. familiar aches of circling and continuing about birth and rebirth, like the tissues after tissues used to wipe my tears, discarded and never thought of once again. The familiar homesick sounds of the city lull me to a serene embrace and I think, how only the brightest flash across the night sky is when the endless stars touch something achingly mortal.
We yearn for immortality, yet dismiss the ones who've danced with the elixir as mad.
Is life always struggling out of you? And the more you laugh, slowly, bit by bit, life echoes out of you, like the sound bubbling from your throat? And eventually it runs out, but I can't seem to find that sad, as you fade brightly, just like a dying comet in the night sky, short-lived but beautiful nonetheless.
You can't drag me away from cities, no matter the serenity of small towns and farmhouses. Something unspoken about it always attracts me, so many lives, bursting with energy, each fast and bright in its own galaxy, none too similar to the other or to mine, and I, a lone observer, will never get enough of that feeling.
Yes, your heart stopped at 5:05 am. You still have so much time left across the world. Frida kahlo painted flowers so that they would not die, my darling muse, how can I ever accept that you're gone?
it's been 5 years and I still remember your birthday. I don't think I'll ever forget it to be honest. it's been imprinted in my brain and every year around the start of fall, I think of you. and I know I'll be having the same thoughts in 10 years time and we'll still be miles away.
I don't annotate much in books, and yet if it was him? I'd underline every letter. the margins would be complete with my handwriting (I hope). I'd highlight all of him, every single page.
Head tilted back with laughter
I would make this my forever
still, i remind myself
nothing lasts forever
and about ten years later,
glow of streetlights
on my lashes
all I feel is longing
you said i spoke like a poet,
and yet when i try to write,
your name is what spills out of my lips.
our conversations keep getting longer and I've never laughed so hard,
am i reading too much into this?
yet you are desperate for love too.