there is nothing else i want more than to feel this way.

visceral

how does it feel,
to see the trees burn fiery red?
when the skin longs for a palm of heat
but what caresses is
minty autumn breeze?

how does it feel,
when the trickling carillon of the piano keys flutter?
does it make your heartbeat tiptoe and twirl
into light pirouettes-
leaving you in wonder
at what this tender,
muscle of yours is yearning for?

how does it feel,
to breathe a moment?
do you sigh a little
and savour sweetness in reprieve?

& maybe
no matter how convincing
you tell yourself that your feelings are soundproof
it begs its way to be heard
beating in discord to the rhythm of your chest,
and in disguised
in the clandestine corner of your mind

words will be forgotten,
but in echoes, i know
the soul remembers how to feel

a meridian

the zenith is not a desert
in desertion where blowing sands
is your only company

nor is it in the dark, lamp lit street
where warmth of late summer
moist-instilled breeze
cool your fatigued blood
into humility

when you find,
that home is the road all along
where salvation is
the ability to reflect

it is sometimes woven into
mittens of reminisces
or fortresses
of unspoken feelings

Rekindling

Make no apologies for why things did not become as you thought it would. Make no apologies for letting yourself submerge into the darkness and abyss. Into what you thought was fire, red and passion. Make no apologies for a choice. For choosing. For a realization that you have hands. For feeling things with your fingertips you thought were intangible. Make no apologies to release. For letting go of a rope in a tug of war. For letting yourself pull and be pulled, for the calluses that burned, marking fate in your life-lines. It was never a noose, nor should you let yourself be convinced otherwise. Make no apology for self-love. For the realization of how much destruction self-loathing can do to you.

Expect nobody to understand what you are, where you are, and how you are going through it all. For it was never anybody's but yours alone, to know the real you.

& I am more in love with my life than I have ever been before.

-written Aug 21st, 2014

There are two different kinds of sensitivity. One who seeks sympathy. And another who feels for others out of empathy...

& I wonder whether I fall in between.