Youtopia

I just wanted it to be perfect, I wanted it to be blue skies, all smiles and never, ever any goodbyes.

Everything’s better when you can imagine it as a beautiful scene happening in your head, which sort of intermingles with what reality is. It’s this way that I live my life, that I stop the hurt, the dull aching hurt of how mundane life really could be for me.

People were always better, more approachable for me if I could picture them with a hint of magic, something extra special that in my deluded imagination they would never be able to achieve without out.

In this case, imagination was the most egotistical thing I could have, because it painted people the way I thought they should be, how I thought they could be. Instead of just as how they were.

Go to bed, young dreamer.

It is a beautiful thing to fall in love. To fall in love is a beautiful thing.

Waves crash, eyes - they glisten, the heart grows bigger and we forget to listen.

It is a beautiful thing to fall in love. But to stay in love is the mission.

The only direction.

Not being judged anymore.
Not being chained, nor held involuntarily.
Not being destroyed, only to be saved.
Freedom.
I expected it to hurt a lot more than this.

The Giver

The distance between us, is measured by how
many more miles further I have gone for you.

I am going to retrace my steps, ever so carefully,
So that I come back on myself and the
Distance which divided us, is bringing me
Much closer to myself.
Who said it’s not about the destination?

Lost treasure

Sometimes I feel like I spend so much time being lost, that the prospect of being found again has become like a faded sun to me. It has perhaps even become unwanted now, because there’s a comfort in the not knowing and the uncertainty.

It is dark underground and I am buried alive, by false convictions and promises. I do not want to find the ‘X’ on the map, because I want to be the X. To come full circle, to finding myself, digging through the tonnes of sand and grasping my own hand, to pull me out. And there, in the fresh, non-stifling air, I would walk, linked only with myself – my new love – to adventures new.

Picture can be found at http://www.flickr.com/photos/electrichamster/96531540/

Nectar

Bee on flower, originally uploaded by PIXNOIZE.

The bees are drunk on drinking flowers,
And you are gone and upside down,
And I, I've been up for hours.

The canvas

If I could paint a picture of what you were to me,
The canvas would remain white
And I’m not sure of what you’d see.
It would look rather empty,
With no colour, sketch or form,
A simple square, made for art
No Picasso here be born.
For you, my sister, are beyond colour
And no drawing will quite capture
Your smile, your laugh, your kindness here
And in this I take rapture.
For your subtleties and various ways
Were beautiful enough
To paint my days.