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| toosolewrites |✍️
I have not been loved by many, And I have not loved too many. The moon seldom has a word, And that keeps us a sad world. #ts #tftos
The rain and a clean window are a chance to look back at the running years.
I wish pictures held days in their palms, but infact, these days run away like teenagers from their mothers.
And we hunt after memories, just to make them, just to make them. And never, never do we realize, "These are gonna beleaguer us."
We were meant to live forever.
#ts #nss #de
I wish pictures held days in their palms, but infact, these days run away like teenagers from their mothers.
And we hunt after memories, just to make them, just to make them. And never, never do we realize, "These are gonna beleaguer us."
We were meant to live forever.
#ts #nss #de
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I miss the rainstorms,
I long for meaningful chaos.
My, the street trees and figures
Know too well those whispers,
And slow dances under the moon.
I think I'm used to this music,
But tonight the drums hit different.
I'm immersed into this water,
The art of loving something
That is taking my breath away
The art of holding onto nothing.
#ts #fg
I long for meaningful chaos.
My, the street trees and figures
Know too well those whispers,
And slow dances under the moon.
I think I'm used to this music,
But tonight the drums hit different.
I'm immersed into this water,
The art of loving something
That is taking my breath away
The art of holding onto nothing.
#ts #fg
Silence is all. It reveals what the world keeps a secret. And she is the world.
"So who have you loved before me? What have you allowed to take you, that I have to be envious of?" I ask her.
Questions are like oceans. That is what she says. They make silence make a sound. And yes, that is how beauty is found, when silence makes a sound.
Her eyes speak the way butterflies take off. I don't know how butterflies take off, but I've seen them. I've watched them glide. I've seen her eyes. You know she's going home. You know she is home. And without saying, I love that about her freedom. I love that about her freedom.
"The horizon," she says. "Myself, water— any water, flowers, and nights, without regret."
There are many versions of her sighing, but I'd surely eat one if it were a burger. It makes her smile without smiling, y'know. I believe a smile is a travel.
She begins with her heart making quiet hiccups, and ends with a smirk, so much a wink with her ocean lips. I have been in those.
And this is what I'll get used to. You can tell she's proud of her thoughts, and that is just. A woman has to be proud of her thoughts.
But I have to keep the night rolling, as does a full moon. So I ask, "How about now, what has changed?" I pretend not to count the heap of chaos that she'd let consume her.
And this time she goes the rest of the journey, and still, sighed. Her smile is as sure as an old moon.
"My, you've become all of it. You've become everything.
I look at the rising sun and say, 'Right, that is him. That is the horizon. My chaos.'"
#ts #btf
"So who have you loved before me? What have you allowed to take you, that I have to be envious of?" I ask her.
Questions are like oceans. That is what she says. They make silence make a sound. And yes, that is how beauty is found, when silence makes a sound.
Her eyes speak the way butterflies take off. I don't know how butterflies take off, but I've seen them. I've watched them glide. I've seen her eyes. You know she's going home. You know she is home. And without saying, I love that about her freedom. I love that about her freedom.
"The horizon," she says. "Myself, water— any water, flowers, and nights, without regret."
There are many versions of her sighing, but I'd surely eat one if it were a burger. It makes her smile without smiling, y'know. I believe a smile is a travel.
She begins with her heart making quiet hiccups, and ends with a smirk, so much a wink with her ocean lips. I have been in those.
And this is what I'll get used to. You can tell she's proud of her thoughts, and that is just. A woman has to be proud of her thoughts.
But I have to keep the night rolling, as does a full moon. So I ask, "How about now, what has changed?" I pretend not to count the heap of chaos that she'd let consume her.
And this time she goes the rest of the journey, and still, sighed. Her smile is as sure as an old moon.
"My, you've become all of it. You've become everything.
I look at the rising sun and say, 'Right, that is him. That is the horizon. My chaos.'"
#ts #btf