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Archive for August, 2012

 

Maybe when September comes,

I won’t feel so much pain,

And when the leaves receive their gold,

I too something will gain.

 

Maybe when September comes,

My mind will start to clear;

I’ll forget everything that passed

In the fateful mid-year.

 

Maybe when September comes,

My scars will start to fade,

And as the air turns crisp and cold,

I won’t feel so betrayed.

 

Maybe when September comes,

My lucky stars will shine,

And through the lonely nights, I’ll dream

Of all that once was mine.

 

Maybe when September comes,

I’ll find an open door

That leads me back to summer so

You’ll come to me once more.

 

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Sometimes I wish

The truth was clear

And lying was a sin.

 

Sometimes I wish

The sun shone bright

And night could never win.

 

Sometimes I wish

Your heart was wide

So you could let me in.

 

But when I wish,

It hurts because

All these things could have been.

 

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It’s a breaking that takes you

And leaves you breathless—

So miserable, so shut in the dark—

Too tired to ever fall asleep.

 

It’s a song that you play at night

When you want all to be fixed

And returned to the way it was,

But redemption seems so hopeless.

 

It’s the element of surprise

When you are forgiven for mistakes

That hurt like sharp daggers

And flood you with regret.

 

But still you are left breathless

Because joy is like pain

In this strange, twisted way—

There never seems to be enough air.

 

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Run, but don’t you run too far.

Run just far enough to escape—

Run as quickly as you ever have—

But don’t you run away from me.

 

If you’ve got nothing to live for,

Live at least for this feeling—

This feeling that you and I get

With the slightest taste of freedom.

 

These are the fleeting silver days;

We blinked after having our eyes open

For far too long, yet far too short a time—

The days of gold are irreversibly gone,

 

But we can still pretend as though

Our youthful reign will never end

And our gleam will never turn to rust;

We are forever running to something new.

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            He was a song that wove in and out of my dreams—a lullaby capable of calming even the fiercest of storms. His presence was like sunlight; it shone upon the world but cast shadows that could not be ignored. To him, everything was effortless, and he moved with both a grace and an energy he could barely contain. He was fire in a lonely hearth. He was color in a world of black-and-white.

            It was all wrong. So wrong. But he wiped away the tears and told me it was right. And in that moment, even the most unyielding of people would’ve believed him, for he put a confidence into his words that made it seem like he was swearing upon his life.

            Yet he rarely took anything seriously. His laugh was an infectious melody that never went too long without being played. Life was a game of cards, and he always bet his all. No one expected him to play fair—not because it was his priority to win, but because he lived to misbehave. Winning, however, was inevitable.

            His emotions were strong as the tide. He tried to conceal them, but his eyes betrayed all—blue-green eyes that were as beautiful as he was himself. They revealed what most people did not know: He was broken. Internally shattered. The past was a source of pain, and the future was something that would be put off for as long as possible. He lived in the here-and-now; he brushed everything else away.

            It was intoxicating to be around him. He was a diamond in a bed of crystals—a masterpiece hidden away in an attic. Everything about him was so unbelievable that sometimes I wondered if he was a figment of my imagination.

            But perfection could never be attained. He was a disaster waiting to happen—a match struck in the middle of a forest. He was beyond the point of being fixed, so there was no use in trying to repair the damage.

            He was a beautiful mess. And I loved everything about him.

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