Hopeless Romantics

When you close your eyes
If the image of your deepest desire
Comes in the form of a human being
Then you’ve been cursed
With a hopeless romantic personality.
When someone asks you if you believe
In surreal and abstract things,
In your heart if you believe in 1000 impossible things,
Then go and find your truth in places only you can reach.
When insanity is met with sanity
And the word spelled l.o.v.e is used to name that pairing,
Then you know even if it’s an illusion it can be reality.
When you’ve held on to a matter of the past
It can indeed be the same as a dream
And perhaps one day fade away and disappear.
Though if the memory has yet to leave your mind
Then continue to fight in the name of your own being
For all humans have are their own
Hopeless romantic obsessions created to spark deeper meaning.

Red Thread Nights

She had been lying awake at night, thinking over on dreams and hopes. Wishful thinking of a miracle romance, and falling for a phantom thief. And even though her feelings had yet to short-circuit, and even if she could make a call at midnight, just to hear whispers of things far from her reach, never did she give up believing in this kind of destiny. Despite, her heart seeking out the touch of someone’s hand, the shoulder she could rest her head, and gentle lips to kiss against her forehead. So as she wrote, and looked at the world around her, she wanted to take a chance on a knight that was closer, in the hopes that the phantom thief could return what he had stole, but every part of her soul is just another victim of the red thread that binds, with nothing but time…

I Am A Girl Who Is Still Dreaming

I am a girl who is hopelessly romantic.
I am a twenty-four year old who believes in the impossible.
I am a woman with existiential thoughts.
I am the daughter of a man who lost his way.
I am the child of a woman who has closed herself to many things.
I am the product of a society that no longer grasps true love.
I am someone who is not above karmic justice and fate.
I am a person who seeks out truth and beautiful things.
I am an introvert who has fantastical dreams.
I am one who believes that the sky could fall at any time.
More specifically, I am one who refuses to give up on a thought, which has become a wishful pipe dream.
And here I lay, staying awake at night to send my thoughts and wish to the universe.

The Dream

There was a dream that started it all. A place in my heart where I knew that fairytales though hardly real were and are quite possible when placed in the most unseen scenarios at just the right moments in time. That next to candle light people still wrote in cursive on lined paper in journals that are hidden in drawers underneath folded button up shirts. That when you look at a flickering flame it causes your serene thoughts to have drops of chaos drip into them and spread, soon disperse within a mind sea. And somewhere I knew in my gypsy soul and my wanderer’s heart that I’ve been trying to accomplish what I couldn’t in a past life, because the story of my life isn’t something new or something I haven’t faced before. Perhaps it’s also my existential philosophy that has guided me thus far. I just know one thing to be true, when I put my pen to paper there’s something that’s missing in my world, and when I look at a flickering flame it makes me wonder even more if I can make the fairytale within that dream real.

 

All Eyes

Stumbling forth, all eyes watching, a wanderer who’s reaching out to grasp onto a light, weaving stories and dreams in her wake. They’re waiting, wondering when she’ll falter and give in to the world instead of the voice deep inside her soul. Though she doesn’t even know anything about getting there, but she knows how it started and how she has it in her mind where it will end.

Will You Follow Me?

Somewhere hidden underneath all the photographs,
all the memories;
buried deep is a fragment of a beginning
that slowly turned into a middle,
which is leading towards an end.
Within dreams comes a hope,
a seed that was dropped somewhere within the ashes
of a once upon a time thing.
You who wish to follow me and escape this place,
crying out for a new destination,
can you give up all that you’ve known
in this world you’ve called your own?
Chasing down a secret sun that sets in the west,
do you believe in all the things
I want to make into a reality?
Or shall you follow and watch
living in a fantastical kind of vanity?
When the why is strong enough the how doesn’t matter.
If I tell you all my stories,
will you believe in my greatest dream?
A wish I’ve made upon countless stars and wishing wells.
Something that’s been wrapped within my heart
for years and miles.
Will you surly come with me?
And watch as I write a realistic tale
laced with fictional ideology?
For I need to know if I’ll make the journey on my own.

All men dream, …

All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible. ~ T. E. Lawrence

Morning Greetings

Your fingers brush against my jaw line before I even open my eyes to see your face. Fingertips which have been over worked during the day are soft and inviting as you try to stir me from my slumber and into your wake. For a moment I am back, back in your apartment, where this first began.

I remember the first time we were like this; it was a Sunday afternoon in the middle of April. Your head against my chest my own fingertips worked through your chocolate hair, gently and unaware of how often we would be like this in the warmth of your full sized bed. Your apartment always smelled of old cinnamon and spice, while in the distance, the sounds of downtown traffic seemed soothing like a piano and violin duet. In your bedroom the oversized windows brought with it the sun, and when you looked into my eyes in the morning’s light your deep brown eyes were the colors of tigers-eye stones, bright, warm, and fierce. Your lips firm and unafraid of your quest to pull me from my dreams. You never knew that you were the dream.

My eyes open slowly, the pull of sleep still beckoning me to return, a few more minutes, but you refuse to let me fall again. “I never knew perfection slept so damn much.” You whisper in my ear, before your lips kiss my cheek. “Wake up…” You quietly plead.

“Did you even sleep?” I ask trying to sit up; your arms quickly pull me back down, pulling me closer to your bare skin. Your sheepish grin, a trade mark, greets me.

“No, not one bit…”

Girl with the Different View

I’ll tell you a tale, a tale of a woman who always envisioned her dream in the form of a slow dance. She wasn’t a dancer, just graceful, reckless with her thoughts, and full of shadows. A girl who played the knight so many times, who now waited for a forgotten someone to take a hold of his fight. She’d sit staring out at the rain, blowing her breath to the window, and taking her index finger, writing in kanji symbols on the glass. So much time had passed and when she finally looked up the world she knew was suddenly gone. Minutes. Hours. Years.  No one really knew her aside from the tales and the name she had made for herself, how often she spoke truths and yet on paper it was like the world of others couldn’t sit still. Focusing on one last task, her grey hazel hues, hand reached out, and spinning around, she let go of the world she thought she knew, in order to embrace the path she had once stepped away from. Dreaming was always the easy part. Pushing forward left behind so many wondering why? Why she kept her heart and kept trying to achieve something that acted as a spark in her shadow world. For her the truth was, the one who had once protected her, now it was her turn to gift back to him.