The Chase

The “chase” is never ending or ever satisfying. If you’re a chaser, you chase for life, you chase life, love, attention and contentment; you chase happiness. And they, with their slithery tentacles always slip out of your hands, escaping through steel grip and iron resolves. If only you were stronger, perhaps your entire body clad in metal, heart of silver, if only you could just hold on to fleeting memories… if only.

Nothing ever stays though. Nothing ever stills. So, you begin again and chase the next big thing, a little harder, feeling a little darker. After a lifetime of chasing, you look at your hands, stare at the deep ridges of your palms, not entirely human and entirely self-carved and realize…

–

happiness dances better on an open surface.

The Truth about Love

Close your eyes

if your heart so desires,

the surrounding forest

does not disappear.

The trees stand tall.

The grass still grows lush.

Animals make a home

and the birds a nest.

If I close my eyes,

the forest remains;

it lives.

As does this forest of love

I keep hidden

within the parts of me,

where light has no reason to travel.

It grows still, for the ways of nature,

life and the sun,

though easily perceived,

are seldom accepted.

©️Romancing Life

The Lilac Sky

‘The Lilac Sky’

I seek the path that

takes me through

the lilac sky

framed in rose coloured glass,

to the road beyond

the limits of the eternal sun.

I seek the universe within you,

that something, which

you seek in me;

the light catching fire

in your eyes

and the dance of a smile

on my lips.

©️Romancing Life

Who?

Who is the sea and who am I,

I do not know.

I just know how to flow like the waves,

to and fro.

I flow without question,

I flow without hinderance.

I am destruction.

I am absolution.

I am the cradle of life.

I am a cemetery.

The giver of life

and home to death.

I am. I am. I am

I am beyond thought.

Where comprehension ends,

I begin.

©️ Romancing Life

Love Me Forever

Something Bigger than Myself

I have always wanted to be a part of something. I wanted to be a part of a family, a group of cousins and siblings. I wanted to be a part of a group of friends. I wanted to be a part of a community. I have always wanted to be a part of something bigger than myself. By default, I fit into all of these categories and none if I take a deeper glance at the truth.

A sense of loneliness accompanies me everywhere I go. It is a sense that comes to life by not being understood, not just for a while, but for every second you have been alive. It is a heavy thing to carry with you everywhere, this loneliness.

I have tried to empty the bag of thoughts I carry in mind. I have tried to scream the words out and I have tried to pull them out forcefully. But, they, like a faithful lover, do not abandon me. They stand next to me in my deepest moments of despair and they hold my hands just as well at the zenith of my happiness. So, I suppose, I lie when I say I wish to be a part of something bigger than myself. I realize, the loneliness has become bigger than me and I have become a part of it.

©️Romancing Life

What is beauty?

There is beauty in this world that is more than what the eyes can perceive. This beauty is as natural as nature, as apparent as instinct, and rare, much like common sense. This beauty is of and beyond this world. To understand it, you have to let go any preconceived notions you have and wipe your memory clean. Forget what you know of beauty, to understand and feel that, which cannot be seen.

©️ Romancing Life

A Postcard from Paris

A Postcard from Paris

I consider myself not to be a materialistic person, odd for someone who places so much value onto material things; onto material things that represent memories. Take this postcard for example, bought of a street vendor lining the ever charming streets of Paris some six years ago. I intended for it to be sent to a dear friend, which you might have guessed from the forewords, never happened.

I found it recently, sitting pretty at bottom of my memory box, collecting dust. Albeit well preserved, a sad little thing if you ask me, holding onto something meant to be someone else’s memory. I never let it have that opportunity. I never let that special someone’s face light up with joy because I was selfish, that too in a way that served me no purpose.

My memories have a home in mind, in my heart, far more precious than a piece of cardboard with no address label or message of affection. All these years later, I wonder why I held on? I wonder why am I still holding on? Was I simply being selfish or was it because I didn’t want to let go of the dream?

©️ Romancing Life

Should Have. Could Have

Artwork: @sandra.cumplido (Instagram)

I should have talked to you. Your soft smiles were an indication enough, I should have stopped you, but you were always so immersed in your ways. Shy glances and sweet sighs. So many confessions twirled on your tongue, like sweet hard candy, melting before I could ever hear their crunch. Every once in while you would smile, let the secrets reflect in your eyes. And, I would forget. Forget your pensive stares. To remember what was in front of me. A mirage, that was all you. You and a semblance of me. A shadow that bore our names. Us. Together. In a different lifetime. In an alternate reality. But this, I cannot forget; we are here, in the now, in this place. In this actuality, you don’t talk and I don’t hear. We don’t speak and you are not near. I live with regret, for the things I didn’t do, the words I didn’t let escape in submission to my fears. Perhaps, it is too late. Time is too far gone to say, I should have stopped you. I should have talked to you.

© Romancing Life, 2018

It Hurts

I have been afraid to write of love lately. It takes away too much out of me.

Love is the essence of living. And there are days, which these days are most days when I feel it hurts too much to speak of love with careless abandon. I did so once. Perhaps even dared to do it twice. Once all was said done, I was left with a mere shell of my words. 

If I dab my pen too much into love’s ink, it hurts. It hurts when I speak of what I had. It hurts when I speak of what I don’t have. It hurts to look at my empty hands and I realize even my wishes have slipped through my fingers. 
© Romancing Life | 2017