your song

Your song, which I can only imagine would sound like an open flowerbed in the dusk of summer. The kind you’d often find yourself frolicking in where the air is clean and the petals stretch multiple miles, far outside the reach of vision.

Your song sounds what a tropical forest smells and some odd way taste like, with all its fruit and rainwater bliss. The kind that is rich and flavorful. Wildlife and all.

Your song, to me, is what I’d often catch myself playing on repeat to the end of all my days; a wonderful tune.

Getting it.

I’m a strong believer that we, as people, won’t really get it. From the time we can conceive our own thoughts to the last puffs of the air we breathe. No matter how established we consider ourselves, there’s always hints of ignorances within us. Life is given to us without much of a blueprint to see what works and doesn’t. We can try, but for only so long. Ya know?

old age

I’m looking forward to the days I can wear my lifetime through the wrinkles on my face, feet and hands. Visibly showing the journey that is gradually etching itself onto my body in today’s time. It will be a poetic story indeed.

distance

I’d bargain that there’s such thing as emotional travels. When you’ve gone far out, there’s no way in finding your way back to place you once were. Metaphorically-speaking of course.

Pre-World

I wish we could get back a normal world. If “normal” ever was such a thing. Who would’ve thought I would miss seeing whole faces. The kinds you’d catch a glimpse of every so often. Beautiful strangers. Interesting faces, different from our own in every way. Eye-contact these days don’t feel as intimate as they once used to be.