It has been a long time
since I last wrote anything.
Not because I have nothing to tell,
but because I feel as though I am forgetting
how to give shape to feeling,
how to hear
the rhythm hidden inside words.
Does love truly change the colors we see?
When we love someone deeply,
the mind begins to build
a counterfeit paradise.
Every flower seems to whisper
that life is worth living,
that everything is flawless,
exactly as it should be.
Perhaps you had been waiting
for that moment all along.
Perhaps your longing
for everything to fall into place
had already scripted
a new reality for you.
Then,
perhaps, a spy you failed to notice,
hidden behind the face of kindness,
slips into the story and tears the whole scene apart.
This time,
those spies construct
false darkness instead.
For a while,
you drown within it.
Your chest tightens.
It feels as though every beautiful feeling
has been stripped away from you
as if you had never known them,
never lived them at all.
Then,
for a single second,
you stop
you draw a deep breath,
both the bright scenes
and the dark ones
were only fabrications.
the only truth in life
is what happens,
and the choices
we make
in response.
Moments
colorless,
shapeless,
without inherent meaning.
Moments
without light,
without smoke,
without blackness.
Moments
free of judgment,
seeking neither right nor wrong,
existing with(out) you
