Love is like a firefly. Instead of reflecting light, it makes light of its own. It fills your crystal jar heart with delight and wonderment. But every once in a while, what looks to be a firefly, will turn out to be a wildfire. And if you try to catch a wildfire in your crystal heart, you will only end up burning to char.
The ones that survive become diamonds. They shine like the fire they are born of, and cut like a blade of all the pain in the world.
I never congratulate people when they tell me that they had a baby. I mean, come on, you got married, had sex, this was bound to happen, right? That's the natural progression of things, not an achievement. Now congratulating someone on getting married, that's sensible. You actually found someone who's actually willing to to marry you! Now that's an achievement.
But congratulating for making a baby? It reminds me of the emails I receive on work anniversaries. "Congratulations on successfully completing 3 years at XYZ". Oh gee, thanks, I totally did it myself. When somebody congrats me on a work anniversary, what I imagine they actually mean is, "Congrats for not getting fired this year", or, "Yet another year and you still couldn't find a better job, SHAME ON YOU!"
You are unique. You are different. And the number of fucks anyone gives is zero.
I get why you feel like brandishing your uniqueness. You think being different puts you in the minority, which makes you feel special. You are indeed unique, different, special, limited edition, I agree, I'm too. The only problem is that everyone else is unique and different too.
Forget the round pegs and square holes stories you've been fed with. Stop caring about being different. Just do your thing.
You kept me up at nights
and got me through my days,
but all I now have left
are these circles under eyes.
(Just a piece that fell off from this)
I sat at my window,
watching the last of the drizzle,
going over and over
about the last time we spoke.
Gone are those feelings,
both bliss and betrayal,
now all that is left
are these questions that linger.
You said you wanted someone nice.
Wasn’t I nice enough,
or was I just too nice?
You said you liked them tall.
Was I not tall,
and then some more?
You said I’m likeable,
but how I missed the ‘but’ that followed.
You told me I’m handsome,
then taught me there’s a difference
and handsome enough.
You made me believe in magic,
but little did I expect
the vanishing act that followed.
May be I spoke too much,
but I was afraid that you would leave
if I stopped talking.
May be I spoke too less,
but I was afraid of what I might reveal
if I kept talking.
I know I should’ve shaved,
and worn my new blue shirt.
But did you notice,
that I’d even colored my hair blue.
I know you have your reasons,
which I won’t pretend to know.
But it eats me up not knowing,
what I could’ve done better.
It dries me up just thinking —
will it ever rain again?
The danger in getting to know people is that you might actually start liking them.
Guilt is the most powerful motivator.
Some might say hunger is;
hunger can make someone steal a piece of bread,
but not make him feed a thousand.
Some say love is;
love can start a war,
but not end one.