Why not

Here I go again, writing suckish poetry. Oh well. :P

I asked you why.
Why did you stay?
Why didn't you stop?
Why did you protect me?
Why didn't you leave?

Start Writing

You get your desk ready. Notebook? Check. Pen? Check. Thesaurus? Check. Comfortable chair? Check.

Whether you're in the mood or not, you use all your willpower to sit down and you feel like a heavy weight has been mounted on your shoulders. You slouch a bit then open the notebook to a blank page and just stare at it for a few seconds. The lines seem to be intimidating you, reading you from the very depths of your soul and taunting you, bullying you for your inability to write. You just stare back at the page, courage slowly vanishing.

Now what?

River-Merchant: A Letter

A reply letter to River-Merchant's Wife: A Letter.

The river's flowing slowly like it did in the past

When we could still be happy and glad

When we could still play and laugh

When we could still brighten up each other's face with just a smile.

But now, my dear, the bright days are gone,

The sun has stopped shining and the dark clouds have come.

I look above and see nothing but black,

Not being able to find a single ray of sunshine.

Still, I wait for you and the birds sing nothing but the blues.

And it does nothing but sadden me,

But I know that it will sadden you even more.

Leaves turn orange, some brown.

There is not one day I do not think of you.

Spring passes by as quickly as summer,

Winter lingering just a bit longer.

And still I think of you.

Would you be waiting for my return,

Lilies in hand and a smile on your face?

Or would you be picking yellow tulips with a substitude,

Bringing with you all your subtlety and grace?

The wind smells like you, and so do the trees.

The night noises sound like your footsteps.

Everywhere I turn, I see your peaceful face.

I wonder, would you still look the same?

When I left, I left something other than my love.

Even the flowers would shake their heads.

The migrating birds seem to mock me as they pass.

For I can never go back.

--

Trivia: Lilies mean 'New beginning.' Yellow tulips mean 'One-sided love.' How I love the language of flowers.♥

Status: Just finished reading Before I fall by Lauren Oliver. Have to buy more books. 

They Cannot Take It

Note: This entry may be is largely biased, because of Lauren Oliver's beautiful book, Delirium.

They cannot take it from us. They never can, never will.

We will continue to love, whatever they say or do. It is our nature, the human nature, to love and be loved. It is our way of life, our way of living. We will never stop loving, never.

If they prevent us from loving, we will restrain. If they prevent us from restraining, we will escape. If they prevent us from escaping, we will die. No one can live without love.

"They cannot take it."

Second Point of View

You walk into the building, avoiding the glances of others. You understand completely what they want and you don’t want to get caught up in their problems. You’ve mingled with them once, and you were completely disappointed in them.

Money. Power. Money.

These go on in your head and you understand that having one, earns the other.

You walk within the crowd. You don’t want to leave, even though you know that these kind of people can destroy you within a snap of their manicured little fingers. You know that they can, but you also know that they won’t, for they are cowards and wouldn’t attack on someone, until they have completely gotten them under their control.

You continue walking, noticing how many people were in the building. You decide to blend in and eavesdrop on some strangers’ conversations, because you know that there is always a good story when large masses of people get together.

You press your weight on the wall and laugh inwardly at the fact that a group of high-class civilians happen to have no intention of concealing their conversation. You notice that they not speaking in full sentences.

One of them is named Histrey and you take joy that there is someone in the world that is cursed with such a name as that. Another one is named Fram and he appears to be the father of the one they were talking about. You take note that Fram doesn’t seem to care for his son very well.

You take your leave just as the father says “Not anymore” and proceed to find another theater to amuse you. You walk slowly, for you know that you may pick up something realistically ludicrous that it may be enough to sell.

You hear a rumor about a witch in the neighboring town and you laugh at them inwardly. You ask yourself how simply shallow people can be when they are trying to snag lots of attention.  You know that this rumor might have been just a hypothesis a few minutes ago, about a young girl with black hair, black eyes and a queer mysterious attitude.

You smile and you know that you will be richer once again.

You walk out of the building, not bothering to look back, knowing that you have gotten what you want and won’t be coming back for a long, long time.

Good Bye.

--

First Point of View

Spontaneous

Sometimes, I suddenly wake up in the morning, grab the yellow pad beside my bed and start writing about the dream I just had. Usually, I would go back to sleep and when I wake up, I will find the once-brilliant idea so ridiculous.

First Point of View

I walk into the building, not bothering to look at the other guests. I know that they will have their fake smiles and their well-practiced, phony expressions on their faces. I haven’t been living under a cave for the last sixteen years of my life and I know quite well the extent people stretch to get what they want.

Money. Power. Money.

I don’t get why people strive to get both at the same time, for you get the other automatically when you get one. When you have money, you get power. When you have power, you get money.

Still, I walk within the crowd. I have no intention of leaving, despite knowing the fact that any of these frauds could destroy my well-maintained reputation in one petty little second. Yes they could, but they wouldn’t.

And so, I continue walking, engulfed by the masses of people inside the building. Blending in, I decide to eavesdrop, for it is always good to know something only a select number of people know.

I lean against the wall, listening as a group of apparently high class dukes and duchesses mutter discreetly to each other. Unbeknownst to them, I could hear them loud and clear.

“Unacceptable!” One of them says, articulating each syllable with obvious bitterness.

“Histrey!” Another scolds him, “He’s still a relative.” Apparently ‘Histrey’ is a name.

A man speaks up, “The disown him, I say! Nothing’s worse than an ungrateful—“

“Fram, he’s your son!” I can sense the obvious disgust on Histrey’s voice as he cut Fram off.

“Not anymore, he’s not!”

I get tired of the heated conversation and walk again. I decide to walk very slowly, in case I hear an interesting exchange of words amidst the whispers and murmurs around the room. I didn’t find anything I was interested in, but I overheard some rumors about a witch in the village. Obviously, it isn’t real and was just made up by some middle-class civilian, yearning for some attention from the higher classes, but she was quite a good storyteller.

I smile. This would make for a very good article.

I walk out of the building, not bothering to look back. I know that I have succeeded in accomplishing my mission and I feel pretty contented. I have been living among these people for almost two decades and it still amazes me how they are very legitimate rumor-starters.
--
First Point of View.

This is part of an exercise wherein I am supposed to write a single piece in numerous points of view. 

Second Point of View

Fifteen Words

She looked at him.

He looked at her.

They spoke not, but they understood perfectly.

Looking For

Everyone has a purpose in life.

Whether it is to be a well-known doctor or an introvert hermit, each person has a purpose, a job, an objective to accomplish. Some don't accomplish it, while some do; it comes as a choice.

This purpose is not independent and inconsistent to other purposed, not parallel, not never-meeting. Some purposes affect others and still some hinder other purposes from being accomplished. This is why interaction is essential to accomplish your certain purpose. But whether you are affected or hindered, you must strive to do your best and move on, because standing on the same spot won't get you up the mountain.

Purposes can come at various times of one's life, randomly even. For example, one's purpose can come as early as his elementary years, while another's materializes in her late forty's. It depends on the certain indicidual and there is no--and there will never be--a statistic for this.

You may have found yours already, but you're still unaware of it.

No Time

"I'm so sorry. I'm busy tomorrow. Can we go next time?"

Without even waiting for an answer, you turned away from me and started skipping to wherever you had to go. You think that I won't mind you canceling another one of our movie nights. You think that everyone would consider just for you and that everything will go your way always. I hated that about you.

Friends are people who you can trust, who you can expect to be there for you. At least, that's what we believed in before you changed. What happened?

We used to be so happy together, talking on the phone almost every night and going to each other's houses until our mothers complained that we were spending more time with each other than our family.

But suddenly, something happened. You changed. You started having absolutely no time for me anymore. You started making up excuses that we both knew were ridiculous. Why? Have you gotten tired of me? Am I not enough for you anymore?

Honestly, I'm hurt, but I will no longer chase after you. I've had enough. As of today, you are but a faded shadow in my memory.

Goodbye.

--

Why do I keep writing about goodbye's? I guess it's a mystery to me too. :)