You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.
You must remember when she forgets.
You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t even know about yourself, because she pays attention.
She remembers when you forget.
You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind and good.
You must learn her.
You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.
You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.
You can't think about writing. If you think about it, You'll fuck it up And all you will be left with Is someone else's shitty, Recycled words left on paper.
Just like any other art form That's worth a damn to Those of us with an Eye for the unimaginable, Your mind should not be aware Of what your pen is saying.
The pen has a mind of it's own, And it is only until you Shut up your brain That you can willingly Let it control you.
Do not be afraid To lose yourself To the flow of something Bigger than yourself. Only then, Can you call yourself An artist.
Old Harmonica Man, Why do you look so lonely? Like you've been living in back alleys, And talking to yourself in broken mirrors.
Old Harmonica Man, You play your instrument so well, There's a soul in that harmonica, A soul larger than most people possess.
Old Harmonica Man, I hear your hurt, your desperation. You play like you still have something to prove, And it breaks my heart Because I think you've been trying to prove it For all of these years.
I have stared death in the face And I did not cry, Did not flinch, Did not blink Or even move.
I have failed at More things than I can count And stood resilient, Ready to try again.
I have been laughed at And scrutinized, But those jeering at me Were left unsatisfied By the lack of emotion Depicted on my face.
So why is it then That a simple poem, A few lines, A couple of clever words Can leave me Sick to my stomach, Throwing up butterflies, Shaking in my skin, Smiling like my
Soul has been set on fire, Like I'll never feel This alive Again?
"Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass.
Take kindly to the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy."
(This poem is what I want to guide my life from now on.)
You leave me crawling out of my head, Every word you ever said Lingers on my lips, My heart balances on your finger tips And I feel sick As I plummet into the deep abyss I know I cannot return from.