Heritage Day

Today is my last day

 

I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago

then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now

I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors

There is a headline,

my face

wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched

it says;

Heritage Day

I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:

One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core

Two: I learned how to live with being a liar

Three: I came as a foreign being full of love

Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters

Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story

Six: I inherited the art

Seven: I will never forget

 

I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope

After all

3 months before they expected me I was ready

13 years before I was

they weren’t

my family

 

The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty

I obeyed my longing eyes

past the dioors and my goodbye suit

I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why

Heritage day:

One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me

Two: It wasn’t always sunny

Three: How to fake the smile through heartache

Four: How to cause the same

Five: My clothes are cheap

Six: I am unworthychocolat_l

Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges

 

So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv

and on the top right hand corner of the screen

A phrase in white paint screams out at me

Heritage Day:

One: My skin colour murdered my first love

Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes

Three: My father Died of a broken heart

Four: You saved mine

Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences

Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica

Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.

 

Palm on palm now

My eye lids find their space

No tears left in me

My heritage day is eternal

and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Letters To You… (2)

Complications are most frustrating. I do not know how to speak to you still, I don’t even know how to begin a conversation… so I send you songs and subtle wishes, hoping that you will realize. I would love to be myself around you. I would like to whisper kisses with the rain and hope that you will feel them. I would like to be the sand on the beach you walk on, to radiate warmth and to tickle gently… I would like to be the glass of Merlot, to feel your breath on me, to fit comfortably in the curves of your lips before you indulge in a sip of me. I would like to linger as an after-taste, an evident memory of some distant time and place…

Hearing the melodies of songs that lead me into the head-space of you. I have lied to myself. I have filled the empty spaces with different faces in attempt to erase the memory of you. I wanted to banish it,to fall in love with someone else… to mean it. I cannot say that I love you, but I know that I feel you.

This takes me back to the time when circumstance brought me into the cage of convenience. Living day by day in a falsetto, I lost  hope… Sitting on the bedroom floor and moping the dirt away with my tears as a detergent. Fate took pity on me that day.

“Happiness hit her like a train on a track… coming towards her, stuck still no turning back…”…

“That was Florence and the Machine with Dog Days are Over right here on Tuks fm, please stay tuned for the latest on…government…”

Your name escaped from the depths of somewhere in me I never knew existed, and the teary smile could not be prevented then. I cried and smiled and mopped and knew that there was something I had to succeed for… I didn’t know you back then either but I felt you… you must have felt me too.

I got dressed that evening with confidence and purpose, I cleared my thoughts and proceeded to work. The night was a little cold, the restaurant was empty… I thought of you  and wondered whether I’d ever see you again. I had seen a lady who resembled you many times but I knew she wasn’t the one who stole my breath and knocked the strength out from under me.

There you were… as radiant as I had ever seen you, your face winded me and I shook like a leaf in a storm.

Composing myself, the glass of wine was delivered… then the conversation… the memory of your eyes and smile, the contours of your face… the longing to trace each of them, to follow my gaze into the depths of you. I wanted to understand the secrets to your heart and keep it with me and scream out to the world so that everyone may know that true connection is irreplaceable.

You’re such a big part of me… but I can and I have lived without you. When winter gracefully announces herself, the scent of the season reminds me of that space… that dismal moment… incapable of reaching out or speaking out or fighting, I let you slip back into the grasp of the other.

I want to be brave enough… no,not yet.

The story is not complete.8565005911_3226c37790_z

Pre-Noir

I need to create an instance, a circumstance where light is eradicated. What would humanity be if we were to live in darkness?

What would humanity see?

How would you react if you were to suddenly be shown that the core of humanity is actually demonic?

Is it so difficult to understand that darkness is at the core of our natural state of being?

When you close your eyes… you re-generate into a state of darkness. We wake to light – to

live the surface life of flesh and ‘sin’… our fake i.e: carnal-lives are composed of what we term as “light”.

Darkness does not provide for the flesh or the body… even so – some of our most physically gratifying moments stand out in our memories as moments of pleasure under a dark blanket in the arms of someone we love.

Black_4

The blind may not see but they dream as we dream and imagine as we imagine!

Switch your light off and see what happens!

Become still and unfettered.

We need  to be freed from the blinding light in order to win beneath the veil, to fight the battles that many are still unwilling to acknowledge!

What is the use of making love if our souls fail to sing out louder than our physical bodies do?

Where am I going with this?

We all want to be heard or seen, but in reality, all we actually strive for is to connect, to be FELT and RECEIVED instead of rejected. In darkness rejection would be impossible… there you would simply have the magic between souls and the texture of it.

At some point in my life, a sip of Gin could help place a smile back onto my face.

What a paradox…

Loving something as clear and see-through as Gin yet romanticizing the darkness.

The hero of my own literature shall then be named ;

Noir…

Gin Noir!

A Story of A Blue Sun

Just a poem written for someone 🙂 very late one evening!

Blue-Sun-web

Yellow
They said was what made the world red
And red being the color of love… meant that everything yellow
was good for a smile and a dance
But his color was blue
So he thought it true
When the world would tell him he couldn’t

One evening he slowly
headed for home after a long day of shining blue light on the world
he though to himself a miserable thought
that all was lost at bright yellow’s high cost
and about love he completely forgot
With his sad face on his chest
and a torn heart at his breast
he continued to walk on home

Until one day while shinning sadly on us
a stranger figure appeared before him
and she seemed to like his blue light
she told him that one day blue would take yellow away

His heart trembled gently
with wild butterflies in his sight
when she looked at his blue with her eyes
and such a surprise for the color of those eyes were so
shining
and loving
and blue

so since that day
when any man says that yellow is the color of a true sun
he smiles broad and brightly
and holds his love tightly
and he says’
“So?
blue is the color of love”

For K.

Nil Sa Saol

24/01/12 20:24

 Dear diary

‘I saw the gap again today, while you were begging me to stay….take care not to make me enter because if I do, we both may disappear’

There is no love in fear

My biggest fear is fear itself. Anger is not only an emotion but an anchor; an ointment to still the throbbing of our wounds. This tourniquet absorbs fear like a supplement and thus it grows and rules leaving no space for reason or compassion, yet it is passionate and loving.

We’ve fought many battles… It is a struggle as the self breathes down my neck hoping that I may slip up and give her gap to surface again. I can never merge with that self if I am to fulfill my curious purpose.

15/07/1994

Dear Diary

‘I will choke until I swallow… choke this infant here before me. What is this but my reflection? Who am I to judge or strike you down?’

There is no love in fear

There is no escaping the monsters although I’m not entirely sure that they are real. Toys are extras in this thriller of incapability. Strawberry is my doll; I hold her face right next to my own then turn to look into my mother’s mirror. Strawberry’s face is vibrant and bright next to my own dull reflection. Through the mirror I see how small I am compared to the vast space filled with scattered furniture… it’s been so long and she still hasn’t called, my own mother doesn’t want me. I smothered her with all my love so she left, to teach me a lesson, so that I may know anger and resentment.

It distorts; the face that used to smile is dark, my eyebrows clamp together and a tear rolls down my cheek. This chest starts throbbing and my throat is tight and lumpy, mimicking my fantasy as I seek the strength to choke this reflection to death. I know anger so where is she?

In my mind I smell her perfume; she reaches out, touches my face and the anger subsides.

She may be gone but I am hers and therefore I must take care of this girl and overcome the longing to hate, judge and hurt her petite infant.

But you’re pushing and shoving me.

You still love me, and you push it on me.’

“Gin!”

No! It can’t be.

This was it?

“Gin, honey? Mommy’s home!”

I am stumped and my throat tightens some more. In a split second the self takes over with an emotionless expression.

“Aww sweetie! Come here, mommy’s home now and she isn’t going anywhere.”

Most little minds would be thrilled, happy, crying. I want her to get away, to stop touching and smothering me, I have so many questions…

“Say something baby, come on… mommy’s missed you she loves you so much. Hug me now will you?”

She clutches onto my clothes and pulls me, she pushes me.

(At that instant I knew; I knew what fake smiles looked like… I knew how to lie!)

“It’s ok mommy!”

The anger burns through my veins as I slowly get closer to her with a hug.

“That’s ok mommy, I love you too!”

11/04/2009

Dear Diary

‘Rest your trigger on my finger

Bang my head upon the fault line.

Take care not to make me enter,

‘Cause if I do, we both may disappear.’

There is no love in fear

Memories are the music videos of our past, only the instrument that triggers them is not a remote, no one hears your mind slipping way back as the faint smell of humidity fused with medicine kills your perception of time. It thrusts you right back into the arms of that dark, daunting space of yourself as your half grown hands shove at your Dad’s lifeless body for the last time; the smell takes me right back to when I stood there not even wanting to hold her back… I needed her darkness and anger; I needed not to feel pain. It was an easy goodbye, no tears… only that invisible rope around my throat. I don’t remember the last time I told him that I love him, but he knows now…I really hope he does.

‘Slipping back into the gap again, I’m alive when you’re touching me…

Alive when you’re shoving me down.’

My pillar faded with the sunset today, he lay as obedient as I had ever seen him in the ambulance as they drove off. The night brought with it the comfort of the arms I had longed for. I look for anger, I turn my heart inside out to try and bring it out, but her hands soothe and nurture, and for this moment she loves me again. I can’t breathe as she suffocates me with the arms of peace and the breath of mist, she responds to my body and I am willing to gasp just like this for as long as I live.

‘But I’d trade it all for just a little bit of peace of mind’

Hers are the eyes I look into as I force my own to open up. Our love remains nothing but a stolen moment as she sits up and calls me ‘friend’. There will be no peace now in my mind or in my heart so the two of me rise and walk away.

26/02/2011

Dear Diary

‘Put me somewhere I don’t want to be;

Seeing someplace I don’t want to see;

Never want to see that place again…’

There is no love in fear

There are shadows along the wall and they seem almost synchronized. I recognize them and I move along knowing that one of them is mine. I close my eyes and I go back into the forest where the ‘Jedi’ mind pulls me out from the tombs of ‘Krom’*. My body feels pleasure while my spirit cries and I am afraid to stay in the forest, afraid to taint the purity I found. Self registers spirit and recognizes the undeniable bond between fog, magic, love and fear. Reality is hot, wet and dirty, oh but now I know… concrete, ancient truth.

‘If when; I say I may fade like a sigh if I stay, you minimize it anyway then; I must persuade you another way.’

A woman’s silence says much according to her circumstance. Shakespeare is resurrected through the movement of my lips while the self attempts to choke and kill contentment. I see the gap I have left and I know the war is inevitable just as I realize that this battle will be the last regardless of the outcome.

24/01/12 23:59

 Dear Diary

 

‘Staring down the hole again

Hands upon my back again

Survival is my only friend

Terrified of what may come’

There is no love in fear

Education is the artillery with a lifetime guarantee and language is the indestructible force barging bravely through borders, barriers and between cultures, enabling a leniency towards others and their spirituality or the lack thereof. The old self turns her back to me, and the new self synchronizes with the movements of the old. Fear is now a polka dot skirt around the two, walking hand in hand with certainty.

A rainbow is most prominent in the act of letting go, of coming to terms with one’s own heart which loves, hates and sins even in purity…until the colours mix to create our own shade of grey.

‘Just remember I will always love you; even as I tear your throat away, but it will end no other way’

 

Darkness is the product of light when light willingly goes back to sleep in order to heighten the appreciation for both in amongst all living things.

You must go where I cannot,
Pangur Ban, Pangur Ban,
Nil sa saol seo ach ceo,
Is ni bheimid beo,
ach seal beag gearr.
Pangur Ban Pangur Ban,
Nil sa saol seo ach ceo,
Is ni bheimid beo,
ach seal beag gearr.
  – **

Life is mist. Life cannot be without a beating heart, yet mist cannot be without fear, just as a heart cannot beat without love.

 

*Krom – ref: Irish Myhology
 
** Aisling’s Song – http://thesecretofkells.wikia.com/wiki/Aisling’s_Song
 
Ref: Tool – Pushit (Salival 2000) lyrics

Gentling A Wild Bat

 

 

Giving my tired head a rest on the palm of my hand I see the continuation to the problematic sentence in between the tiny arrangement of flowers underneath my window. The little blue box with its lid opened on the ‘Tuesday’ section reminds me that I am safe from hallucinations as the pill had been consumed shortly after dinner. Instinctively my head returns to a position of confirmation.

My world becomes a vortex of memories projected through the eyes of a being while the last sound before the thriller is my voice repeating the now completed phrase over and over…

“Her eyes are sapphires, fires, liars. She is the light… the lying light…our fire created sapphires…  innocent liars…”

Until the world is calm again and the filigrees of memories take the lead, like a mirage caused by my dehydration.

The light of my living room arrogantly ridicules the one in her sapphires; so much so that I am scared off and in doubt my lips know only to twist and coil into a smile…that smile…her smile. This act in itself is a kind of language understood only by the hunter and her prey. It is similar to a contract, it is a guarantee, signed, sealed and handed over to cause the collapse of murderous intentions. Their transformation results in bittersweet gasps and insatiable shadows as they act in contradicting manoeuvres allowing weakness at first, only to rise again and feast on an expecting, welcoming lamb.  The shapes and sounds of things to come include thundering feminine grunts accompanied by a background of whispers … gentle clawing soothed by the magic which seeps out from our pores while we’re fully clothed, yet naked.

In ‘god’-like synchronization the rain drops mercifully begin to fall to the rhythm of those inspired by the fleshly sensation between our bodies; creating the prelude to our chorus:  drip…drip…drop…

From walls to wind are dancing feet moving ever forward while her skin presently owns my embrace and me. I walk behind her almost in a waltz; my fingertips covering her eyes, excited by the static summoned by flesh tasting flesh. The grass is dampened by the slow drizzles of rain and as our feet connect to the green beneath them; the tickle prepares us to merge with the flock of shower drops and simultaneously the wind gives in and gradually stops.

A moment is all it takes for gravity to envelope us in a blanket of soil and leaves. My lips aching to rest on her collar bone, my hands wandering… alone. The moonlight pierces through the crowds of spectators with their wooden locks of browns and greys; falling like a spotlight onto her but excluding me even as my body moves in and out of the ray’s radius. Our movements are urgent now; the rain speeds up in accordance. Her heart beats so fast I can feel it pulsating in my throat.

We were like bats worshipping one another.

The landscape and scenery are only a contrast; steam and rain, dark and light along with the moonlight.

She holds on to me as my lips press onto her forehead.

I smell a tear roll down the side of her face as she looks at me unwilling to utter a word. This moment is not meant to be spoiled by thoughts and questions about what lay ahead.

Like bats, with the sunrise we were no more.

My heart threatens to tear out of my chest as I run down the stairs and towards the place beneath my window.

A sharp turn left… then a right… then another right…

She looks at me, cautious, analysing.

I scoop her up and hold her to my chest, just then – a rain drop. A small tear wells up as I begin to walk back to my apartment.

My palm gentles the top of her head

Again

Next up… The Philosopher’s Stone

Of Wood Nymphs and Samodivas

Nymph: (Greekνύμφη, nymphē).

In Greek mythology a Nymph is a minor female nature deity associated with a particular location or landform. Nymphs are generally seen as divine spirits who animate nature. Usually depicted as beautiful, young nubile maidens who love to dance and sing; their amorous freedom sets them apart from the restricted and chaste wives and daughters of the Greek polis. They are believed to dwell in mountains and groves, by springs and rivers, and also in trees.

 

According to many sources including one very interesting essay extracted from the Scientific Works of the University of Rousse – 2008, Volume 47, Series 5.3’; the myth of the Samodiva was born with the fall of the Bulgarian empire. According to this source the natives believe in the reality of once mythical maidens, but also seek a logical explanation to these legends. They believe that during slavery, groups of 3 women from every region in and around the Balkan areas fled into the forests and remained there.

In mid June when the young shepherds took their herds out, it was well known that young ladies would descend from the depths of the forest, to steal a man of their choice as their groom.

This groom however, was only kept until the end of August (According to Bulgarian folklore on August 29 of every year the sun would slice through the day and the night, making them equal).

Thereafter the young man was banished and sent back to his village partially because having to provide food for him as well was very difficult. Shortly after the groom returned to his village it is said that he would die from either a severe illness or depression. Hand in hand with the groom’s death goes the birth of his child (usually male). The child of a Samodiva apparently had extremely good genes especially concerning his/her physical attributes. The sons of these maidens grew with them until they were strong enough to be sent out as freedom fighters, the girls remained with their mothers in the forest and continued to preserve the bloodline.

Many of the great Bulgarian poets and writers (most of whom were freedom fighters) record various encounters with the Samodivas throughout their journeys. Their descriptions of these ‘deities’ are astonishingly similar to those of the Wood Nymph.

Keep in mind that I am not claiming the Wood Nymph and the Samodivas to be the same… I’m only pointing out that the theory of their existence is not completely farfetched.

As a Bulgarian, the myth of the Samodiva makes me extremely proud to be a woman. Five hundred years of hiding and breeding in secret, telling stories and remaining ‘wild’ and uneducated for the sake of preserving the blood line… No romance, just perseverance… it is no wonder that there is no written record of these times. During the Ottoman rule our alphabet was scarcely used… the poets and writers start springing up just before the fall of the Ottoman Empire and technically this makes us a relatively new country.

A new country with a deep history, a nation so closely linked to nature, so rich in mythology; a mythology that is being forgotten, when for centuries women and men sacrificed their lives daily just so that a Bulgarian would never wonder where he/she came from.

The point is that whether we are talking about Wood Nymphs or Samodivas, we should always try to go a little deeper and decide for ourselves whether mythology is really just a bunch of stories as many people perceive them to be.

‘I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge

That Myth is more potent than history

That dreams are more powerful than facts

That hope always triumphs over experience

That laughter is the only cure for grief

And I believe that love is stronger than death’ – R. Fulghum

 

 

 

‘Mythos’

In Bulgarian the word ‘samo’ means ‘only’ or ‘just’ or ‘alone’… the word ‘diva’ means ‘wild’ (this in the feminine form).

 

Website for this image:http://satrae.swu.bg/projects-and-discoveries/discover1.aspx?lang=en

Megalithic Thracian Sanctuary “Gradisteto”- Dolno Dryanovo, Gotse Delchev Region

In this rather intricate language, deciding whether a word is in the feminine or masculine form is rather simple: If a the noun ends on –ova, iva, eva, or even just a – then we can safely conclude that it is a lady noun… on the contrary if your noun ends on – iv, ov, en ,ev etc. – it is a Mr. noun.

 

Home is a wondrous place!

The Balkans are overwhelming, the buildings are ancient – houses, churches, parks, museums; they are all centuries old while the history is incredibly interesting. Our mythology is almost completely lost as the past few generations have become more and more desensitized to the sacred land that is Bulgaria and it makes me really sad.

A few months ago I asked my mother what the Bulgarians believed in before we became Christianized and in turn she told me that we have never believed in anything else.

 

Let’s take a step to the right, find a comfortable spot which would be concentrated enough to analyze and just try to understand why many of us are concerned about such responses.

 

Mythology is said to play a very important role in one person’s upbringing and education. The tales are worth centuries of history that could not and has not been recorded, but has been passed down from generation to generation, so when a generation begins to lose that sense of history, magic and wonder and they turn to their parents (who are naturally supposed to be teachers, guides etc) but they have no idea about what their kid is asking… well I feel it is reason enough to panic! Where to without mythology, preservation of culture and history? Do we roll on with the times and become half-human, lost in the chase for fame and fortune without a care for anything else apart from the next pay cheque?

 

In 1422 the once powerful Bulgarian empire collapsed and was enslaved by the Ottoman Turks thereafter… many sources and historians confirm that the slavery was severe, women and children were raped and killed in attempt to diminish the Bulgarian bloodline. Men were burned alive and shot (amongst other things).

 

Everyone knows that no invading power has the knowledge of a territory better than the folk living on the land, and so brave and selfless women from each Balkan region in Bulgaria preserved the bloodline for over 500 years. This is not just mythology if you think about it. How else does a bloodline survive and remain pure for so long given the violent attempts to get rid of it?

 

I leave you with two thoughts for the day:

 

Think about the number 3 in terms of its use in so many cultures, beliefs and in mythology…

 

Bulgarian men are known to be some of the most abusive toward their women… they seem to always need to prove themselves as ‘men’… consider this; what could possibly have  happened to trigger this behavior that seems to be genetically imprinted on almost every man with Bulgarian blood in him?

 

Next up:

 

‘Of Wood Nymphs and Samodivas’

Roads (Lull A Bye part 3)

It was if her question had taken me back in time to the place at midnight where I’d often wondered about how I’d deal with having to lose her.  Many a time I realized

that I would not deal with it; instead I’d continue on to a path of solitude.

It was the thought of losing her that made me want to snatch whatever bit of love I could before her summer ended with the arrival of her autumn. She had loved me as I had loved her through the years, but she hid as well as I hid therefore only half gratifying the soul and starving the flesh until that  moment when she repeated her question with an honest yearning and seriousness.

“Have you no care to kiss me?”

“I have no care to kiss you… For that kiss will make you mine for a moment after which I am to lose you for eternity.”

“I will not inflict that kind of pain on either of us. This burning will die in time; yours maybe sooner than mine – unless yearning stays with one even in the world beyond our own; in which case dear ghost I welcome your haunting me as I would a wedding day.”

The worlds seemed different as we paced back to where we came from and I could no longer focus on the beautiful sights provided by the genius loci. I saw only the emptiness of the days to follow. Upon entering the graveyard the sun had already set and the moon was shinning brighter than I’d ever seen her shine to my despair… as if mocking my silent grief with a smirk.

“I wish you’d teach the world to love!”

She used to say that the three worlds exist within each other, but that this world is the sweetest because it hurts to be alive. She used to say that pain is the core of love and without it we would not know how to feel, how to smile or be merry. She said that pain is what makes you want to dance in a world of hurtful circumstance. So I sang her a song of sleeping sensations and hopes for a heavy delight, in which our hands lead us back to each other and slowly we moved through the night. Her last breath was quick as for the rest I cannot quite recall… whether days or months had passed before I could think at all.

The moment, upon which my brain had returned I stepped bravely out into the night, I headed straight for the graveyard and danced until my heart was darkened by the coming of the light. My soul had chosen those many days ago when my heart was still beating in her chest and I understood for the first time the meaning of a dying girl’s request.

With the morning my journey began and I had left boldly without a crumb, without a scent of familiarity or comfort… I headed towards the big town.

Some expectations are met, others are not. We fall in and out of love so many times and it made me wonder; how am I teaching the world to love if I have not an ounce of love for myself? I don’t know much more than I knew back then, but I know one thing; loving someone half heartedly is worse than not loving at all.

The road I have chosen is filled with a love which is mine… but it will be a lonely walk. However I will always remember the little girls playing in the stillness of the night without a care in the world. I will remember the gates of that distant graveyard and I will know.

Soul mates never die.

Lull A Bye …continued

“How shall I sing and dance when you are dying?”

“Oh and what of it? Do people not die every day? I am only a person, a mortal artwork arranged in such a way to fall apart some day. Some careless youth my creator was that I should grow so weary when most beings of my time and maturity are merely in their prime.”

The gesture of her resting palm upon my cheek doubled and tightened, her eyes glittered still and I could see no sadness in them; none! I saw only a hushed, almost timid question.

“Have you no care to kiss me?”  Her head dropping with the outburst of that shyness in her eyes which now turned to a suppressed excitement.

“I do indeed love! I always have, but I see no use for I could never live up to an  ideal; you and I are like Eyre and Rochester and the ideal is such as Ingram. I cannot be more charming than I am and my lips are no softer than they seem. My heart you know better than anyone, my cheeks are not so pink and inviting as the ones you always would tell me you dream of. No! I do not wish to disappoint your dreams if tonight must be your last.”

She had always been the leader of this pair and so I followed her from veil to venous paths some of which were alive with active antelopes, ants and Apapanes whereas others were drowned in dull, deranged arrangements of branches lacking leaves or colour.

” You were my prime! When you first sought comfort in my embrace, and I rose to greet and tuck you in; I rose as a phoenix does form the dust of my deserted soul and I loved you instantly. I know very well the texture of your lips. Even you sometimes would give in to the midnight sleep and drift off for treasured minutes whilst pressing them on to the skin that covers that place between neck and this pair of yearning lips. I know the softness of your pale cheek as I’ve dared to  caress it whilst your lips left me burning with the new life and love I was given…”

[Website for this image: http://www.webgranth.com/category/wallpapers/page/25
Tired Girl Black and White Wallpaper Sketch]

” I wish you would be still! What right have you to tell me this now? I wish you had been silent for my love dies with you. I have no care to kiss you, nor do I have a care to listen. You murder me silently, leaving only my limbs to carry my head around. You speak of love as if you know the feeling intimately, yet I dare say; if you were so much as acquainted vaguely with it you would not have spoken thus to me. What hope shall I carry with me now? ”

“Have you no care to kiss me?”

…to be continued