its raining its pouring

my muse told me
dont be afraid,
of knowing
of trying
of making mistakes

i feel so sick of myself
of doing all the above
it makes me want to run and hide
in memories of yesterday

i tried doing the same things that used to leave me speechlessly enchanted
but the harder i rummage, the harder i fall
into icy cold relfections of reality
and shadows of missing smiles

if this place is perfect
why am i only smiling in my dreams


write on

the wind was blowing in our faces when we walked down memory lane, with our heads buried in the present and our mouths nibbling at the future

"when you have no idea, fall back into reality"

"i can't do something without a reason"

sometimes, i have to admit, reality is suffocating. everyday i wish to wake up to a new beginning, only to realise i've fallen deeper into vices. my new remedy to uncertainty is butter, my spring soundtrack the chirping of birds outside my window, blending in is my new superpower. i've learnt to end smalltalk with a worn out smile.

she said "even if you don't give a shit about the world, there must be one thing, the very one particular thing, you do care about"

it took me three drafts, a truck load of courage, some more to stop myself from backspacing everything and pretend i don't need this space, these words to save me.

but i do. and if there's one thing i do care about, its me and my words.

because unlike everything else thats happening, i do care about this huge white empty space, and the fact that something as simple as black letters can make sense out of nothingness.

because you cannot write about something if it doesn't feel right. if it doesn't touch your heart.

it's as simple as that.

so, sorry but i cannot let reality numb my heart. i have to write on.

lets imagine this is a story and we'll always be playing a part of it