Through when my eyes were sky
Not of bright sunshines but dusty storms, the one that spill a lonely cup of coffee, on an incomplete story of a half torn diary page.
Through when my voice was a dream
Not of redemption but a lifeless screech, the one under a shower thumping louder than life
Looks like you survived, on broken toes and lifeless feet
You survived, but I'm glad you didn't exist, you would have had to kill me, yet again.
Me permito dedicarte las líneas que hoy trazo a consecuencia de mi descuido, de mi sórdida memoria, de mi remota consistencia.
Quizás las palabras no sean las líneas figurativas más sutiles, quizás carezco de los sentimientos expuestos, de un calor interno que me facilite la expresión hablada, pero sí de algo he de estar seguro es de aquello que me provoca tu mirada que tras los cristales se ocultan y resplandecen en los momentos menos esperados; de aquella sonrisa que desborda la natural alegría presentada entre tus rojos labios.
De esa cálida piel de sublime textura, de caricias eternas que aún resuenan en mi cabello; por aquella fragancia que evoca tu recuerdo desde los íntimos rincones d...
When I write,
I am more free,
But in face to face temporary conversations,
I don't know why,
Like I am rejecting the person or maybe myself,
Like I cannot trust it,
I am working on it,
But it ain't really easy,
I developed it whole my life,
And it feels lonely,
I dream a lot, and many things on auto-pilot,
38 years on this globe,
And now I want to know who I am,
Shake of the dust and sand,
I have to be true,
Find connection, with me, myself and you.
i write because
live in a universe
with no memory
“Jeg Skriver Fordi”
(I Write Because)
The best PenPals are those who see you as a blank canvas, every time, and invite you to fill that space however you want.
I have been writing snail mail for 2 years now. And out of the 20 letters I’ve sent, 5 replied me their life story.
We corresponded for a span of 2 years and now I’m patiently waiting at my mailbox hoping someone would remember to write.
I’ve written all there is to know about me, my life and my world. I may have divulge a few secrets or more only it’s because I feel free in writing than telling it out loud. I have been collecting postcards and postage stamps wherever I go just so I can trade and seal it on my next letter. I always carry a small journal so I can ready my thoughts when I hold the pen at night.
They said, friends come and go. I guess it’s also true with penpals.
My heart started to ooze out one day,
A toxin of poison and angst.
So I hurried over and begged to know the reason.
She told me she wanted a voice.
I visited my mind and humbly asked,
For partial ownership of the throat.
He clogged it up and vehemently disagreed,
Saying he was saving us from her daily boasts.
"She's a kid, a little toddler!
She has no restraint!" He complained.
"She cries one moment and laughs the next,
Pitiful, impulsive, INSANE!"
I went back to my heart with my head hanging in shame,
From all the hurtful words he had said.
She lifted my chin and whispered to me
To talk to my hands instead.
"I'll grow old with you, we'll die together,
So let's do the best we can."
I miss writing my thoughts out. It was good to write, it's been always good to write your thought rather than sharing it with anyone, because paper understand you and let you burst out, At least then you don't expect anything, and then it don't hurt you.
It was once written that “fear is a natural response of moving closer to the truth.” I hope that lettrs has helped people find the truth in themselves, to overcome their fears and write things that help them find what’s in their heart.
We are all part of a bold experiment in technology, to see if longevity in words and meaningful messages can exist in our detached world.
Why do I write?
I use writing as
an outlet for all
my crazy emotions.
But I mainly write for
personal growth reasons.
It’s a coping tool.
I also write because
I absolutely love reading
things from a while back.
Sorry friends, to disturb you again.
Actually, writing is my addiction and I can't stop it.
I more thought I'd like to share with you that
"Look at, love, like, listen to, think about and give the best gifts to yourself, nobody else."
Después de años regreso, regreso a dejar lo que mi mente piensa, lo que mi alma grita, lo que mi corazón no supera...
........... AAKHIR KYUN............
Kyun aaj bhi tujhe dekh kar
Phir se unhi lamho ko jeene ka man karta hai.....
Aakhir kyun aaj bhi teri muskurahat
Mujme phir se ek nayi ummid paida karti hai..
Kyun aaj bhi tera ek bar palat ke mujhe dekhna,mujhe raahat deta hai...
Aakhir kyun aaj bhi tere aanshuo ko dekh kar phir se pighal jane ko jee karta
Kyun esa lagta hai ki jee to mai rahi hoon par jindgi aaj bhi tujse judi hai..
Tu laut kar aae na aae, aakhir kyun ye yaadein laut kar har bar aa jati hai
,......... JOURNEY OF LIFE LIVING.....
When some of our journies ended with some beautiful momeries than its enough for lifetime...but when it not its became the worst nightmare..
Words often appear to have vanished from someone who used to write. Probable causes sanctimoniously gather in abundance to those who have forgotten that words pour out only when there is truly something worth writing.
I was reading everything I ever wrote . It made me re visit these mind places . The exact mix of emotions i once felt. This is one of the main reasons why I stopped documents my bad days and instead write more about my good ones . Do you feel the same when you read your own work ?
If I thought lettrs would not have an impact in the world, I would not have kept this grand experiment going.
It is the most emotionally intelligent network I know, thanks to all of you and in 80 languages.
Make your mark!
Why I write...
I remember being eight years old an the only thing I wanted was a diary. But not just any diary! I wanted one with the lock and key. I was always embarrassed like I would have been made fun of for keeping a diary! But most of all I was scared!!! Scared of what people would think if they were to read some of the things I'd write. We moved so much it got to the point I wouldn't unpack the few trash bags I had of clothes because I knew once I got comfortable it'd be time to go again. I have always had anxiety so making friends was something I wasn't really interested in doing. For years a pen an paper was my only fr...
Ever seen chances slimmer,
Than oxymorons? Than breaths
In the slits of turmoils of death
Than serendipity walking bold
With a thunderous sky
Than the fine line of white
That turns the strongest dark
Into a grey of hope,
There, then, maybe
Lays a soul, praying to fall
With trust, on the wiser side.