When I am writing this letter, an exhausted pen is feeling like a pencil in the verge of breaking its nib because of the pressure of emotion on the back of it mostly depicted to the people as the little rubber. We right as we talk. We talk in our mind often when there is love but there ain't you. We doing a roleplay in a world of imagination existing only in our mind palace. The dialogue we write, from the both end, by ourselves. And then we need to erase some of it. We find the rubber on the back of that pencil. We erase some those words with emotion as an eraser built in with the pencil.
We right, then we twist the paper as its a useless rag, turn it to a ball, throw it out of the window of our mind palace. So others dont get to read it. Our thoughts, our words dies inside our heads and then there comes the dreams, sometimes nightmares; a short film by God to visualize the thoughts. We get captive in the mind palace with the love we create and we try to nourish it. we water the little plant with the untold Aqua De Amor inside our head, showcasing a pair of dry eyes with no reflection of feelings as a Poker champ about to hit the biggest jackpot.
I often go outside, pick up those thrown twisted letter balls. I try them to level so I can make some origami airplane with them. Then from the rooftop, when half of the city doesn't even know that i exist, none of them know that WE exist and nobody cares about the airplane to take off from my rooftop, some untold words come to the cockpit and i throw it against the air to make it fly. Sometimes it flies, mostly it goes directly to the ground and most interestingly it never reaches the destination.
How many flowers in this world that bloom every morning and dies every evening without you never thinking of smelling their fragrance? How many stars born every moment and die without you ever gazing in their lights? How many letters of mine turn into an airplane and flies and dies in the graveyard of love without you ever reading them? How many words I speak everyday, in my mind, to you without you ever knowing? Still all these happen everyday wondering will you ever know.. drifting in silent prayer to come in your sight, but no raven to escort them to you..
We right, then we twist the paper as its a useless rag, turn it to a ball, throw it out of the window of our mind palace. So others dont get to read it. Our thoughts, our words dies inside our heads and then there comes the dreams, sometimes nightmares; a short film by God to visualize the thoughts. We get captive in the mind palace with the love we create and we try to nourish it. we water the little plant with the untold Aqua De Amor inside our head, showcasing a pair of dry eyes with no reflection of feelings as a Poker champ about to hit the biggest jackpot.
I often go outside, pick up those thrown twisted letter balls. I try them to level so I can make some origami airplane with them. Then from the rooftop, when half of the city doesn't even know that i exist, none of them know that WE exist and nobody cares about the airplane to take off from my rooftop, some untold words come to the cockpit and i throw it against the air to make it fly. Sometimes it flies, mostly it goes directly to the ground and most interestingly it never reaches the destination.
How many flowers in this world that bloom every morning and dies every evening without you never thinking of smelling their fragrance? How many stars born every moment and die without you ever gazing in their lights? How many letters of mine turn into an airplane and flies and dies in the graveyard of love without you ever reading them? How many words I speak everyday, in my mind, to you without you ever knowing? Still all these happen everyday wondering will you ever know.. drifting in silent prayer to come in your sight, but no raven to escort them to you..
