Senseless World

And I go back to the quest of answers, as a narcotic, daredevil, or junky who loves to pick petals from the melancholic garden of sunflowers. And as a confused lover, adventurer, and seasonal writer, all words which spell from my hand aren't suppose to make sense.  How could I write feelings as one would …

No different

And I must be sincere with you. Yet I will not be direct for words burden the free, cage the wild and confuse the weak.  I must say that every sunset, every full moon, and every morning twilight, reminds me of some adventure we once had. Yet this is what time explained to me, wordlessly, …

The New Beginning.

It all started with an implosion of love that resulted into an expansion of consciousness that we so call universe. What a beautiful gift to start our story. Isn't God amazing? The sun wakes us up, yet we tend to forget that this prismatic fest is a call to start all over again. I forgot …

I learnt

Just like a romantic vals, my steps go softly and melancholic. Every thought crosses my mind with a soft voice which reminds me of your smile. It could be sad, these thoughts and memories could carry a veil of sadness and rencor yet these are accompanied by a mellow and sweet Ukelele. A beat that …

The Thorn

I feel as if some kind of thorn got stuck into one of my fingers. I feel no pain, at times no discomfort, but whenever I notice that it is still stuck, the pressure is felt. I tend to forget that this "thorn" is still here, and that it hasn't left its mild presence from …

Love story

There always has to be a love story. As the verb to be symbolices, a love story exists and surely for something. Hard, yet delicate hearts overheat with passion. Long nights and lack of any care for what surrounds us. Time passes slowly, yet it seems that it is too short. Some kind of heroic …

The Letter – Short Story

I could see his anxiety fall out through the shakes of his hands. He moved around, wouldn't sit calmly. He would constantly look  at the sky through the window as if he searched for birds to count. Maybe he confused the passionate night and its stars with the reality of the daylight. I think that he …