Love Is Sometimes Not What We Expect.

Why does emptiness hurt so much,

when there is nothing for me to feel anymore.

Dragging my pale hands across the dirty walls,

I feel like giving up on everything.

I've lived on for so long,

hoping that someday everything would get better.

But that was just a lie I told myself,

because all that ever happened to me was blue.

From heartbreaks to heartbreaks,

I lived on hoping I would be free one day.

But turns out the way we live our lives,

is always predetermined before our births.

Stars and galaxies had perfectly aligned,

to make sure that luck never came my way.

All those times I felt like joys,

were simply mirages on my abandoned mind.

I wanted answers for so long,

but was afraid to come get them.

Now in the middle of the night I stand,

my heart feeling heavier than ever before.

My pale hands glides over the knocker,

and the sound of it makes the stillness scream.

Moonlight is the only comfort I have now,

as I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

The cold night air smells bittersweet,

but strangely it feels like home.

It is home.

Losing someone you love is hard enough,

but losing all of them together,

is the worst torture that a soul can suffer.

It's been years since I came home.

But I always carried it within me,

a burden that was uncalled for.

Now with the moon and the night as witnesses,

I gather every last ounce of life in me.

Calling home for the first time in years,

I am answered with a gentle breeze that caresses my cheeks.

Maybe they too missed me like I missed them.

Maybe I should've come sooner,

so that I could live a little longer.

But it doesn't matter now.

I call home after so long,

to let them know that I'll come soon.

It's just a matter of months, said the doctors.

But to me it feels like I have eternities to cross,

to finally be whole again.

Calling home for the first time in years,

I can't wait to be finally home again.

© Moonyloonywitch

12/08/2021

We are all someone's hero if not our own.

I asked......

Would you consider yourself, a hero?

Everybody is put here for a reason. Some of us are put here for others to look at and be the example of what not to do. Some put here for them to aspire to. Be the reason another person succeeds. Someone you want to be like. Maybe a hero, maybe a mentor. It's up to us to follow, or be, whichever one we choose.

Would you read your own story?

Or maybe, a question within your story.

The story of your life.

Would you read that story? Would you read the ending? What if the story told everything? Past, present, and future. What if?

What if your story told of every adventure you’ve ever had? If the story told of your heartbreaks and loves? If that story was the truth? And told as only the truth could read? Not like you’d like to remember at times.

If the story told about the highest highs, and the lowest lows? The times that you nearly gave up, and the times you owned the world? Your world.

If the story looked ahead to things not known to you yet? The events and people that will shape your destiny? New people. New hopes, and new tears. New love. The chance to live a long life, or a death that is as sudden as an eye blink.

Would you read that story?

Would it read like you would want?

Would you be the hero of your own story? Righting past wrongs. Living a full life. Or, would you waste the very ink it was written with? A story not worth telling.

Maybe, that is your question. Maybe you should ask yourself that very thing before your story is written.

A question within a story.

The story of your life.

And I asked this, because her story is still unfolding.

It could be considered a tragedy, be she herself wrote out that part.

So, when I asked her, “do you consider yourself a hero”, her answer was simply,

“I don’t know. Maybe some people see me that way. But I think we all rise above situations in life and we can all be hero’s.”

Be someones hero.

Dreams are all that I have now.

All that which keeps me alive.

During the day and at night.

The push I need to breathe again.

Simply put I am up in the clouds.

Far from this world yet tied down to it.

Cursed rules and expectations locks my pretty feet.

Hands tied up with stupid facades.

They feed me normality.

My body doesn't like that so I return it.

All that comes from me are small whispers.

Names of cities and my favourite stories.

The bright constellations and beautiful flowers.

Perfect tea and old world libraries.

Scent of the moon and sound of the ocean.

Winter breaths and summer giggles.

Love for you and love for me.

Bleeding Gods and their sad lovers.

Deep poems and sweet music.

I am filled with the things I love.

And everytime you burn my soul,

You make a star glow.

Everytime you silence my voice,

Thunder rumbles over the mountains.

And when you think you've put me to sleep,

Think again before the moon comes out.

I may be filled with all things sweet and soft and nice.

But I've learned to fight over the years.

I'll let my wolves hunt tonight.

And they won't rest until all your dreams become nightmares.

And watch how I hold you in there forever.

A slave to your mind till the end of time.

© Moonyloonywitch

02/09/2021

The things we leave behind,

always seems like a lost battle.

Because of we could,

we'd lug them along.

But that's not how this works.

We are meant live within these lines,

cross no more and no white space.

Why do they call it life,

when it resembles the very thing that hells are made of?

It seems as if there's anything but hope in here.

Tired sighs and worn out souls.

All the corners taken up by the lost ones.

We were meant to be free and happy and be at peace.

But look at us, look at us withering away to charred remains.

Why is it so wrong to smile when we feel like it.

And why does everything always have to be done,

like they were done before us, for centuries.

We are not ghosts of the past,

but the pioneers of a better future.

Yet here we are, burned and hunted down,

all because we won't fit the box.

With every bone that breaks, the lines expand.

But how many more lives shall be lost,

before we can breathe again.

This cursed system has been going on for so long,

that now all the dreams we had have become mere passing fancies.

We can't afford to pay the price for choosing to have them,

when we ourselves have been so out of focus,

and so so close to an unattainable end.

Are we real, or are we too,the remnants of some far fetched dreams?

Out of focus, out of focus,

We've been anything but alive.

Because the world does not know how slow it has become,

and how far we are from the light.

Thus we shall remain out of focus,

till the last bone breaks,

and there's no one left to fit into the box.

Where do I bury the fragments of my heart that reminds me of you?

Beneath the stars, under the old and forgotten tree?

Or I could pick out a grave in the abandoned playground.

In the moonlight, with my bare hands I shall dig a grave in the soft earth.

There I'll put the bits and pieces of your traces in my life.

And I shall finally plant a pretty flower on its top.

In the silence of the night, my lips will find its way back to our favourite song.

Like a lullaby or a last goodbye,

I shall sing in soft tones till I can no more.

Don't we all need someone beside us?

As we go through our darkest days,

facing our deepest fears?

When the battle is finally over,

we turn to see the smile on their face.

Because at the end of the day,

our souls need a home too.

And what better place could it be,

than the heart of a loved one.

I hope you'll be there for me,

when I return from these chaos.

No matter how cruel the world gets,

I can heal when our eyes meet again.

Alchemists can quit their jobs now.

I have found the elixir of life.

© Moonyloonywitch

02/08/2021

The yellow letter sits on my table.

Edges worn and writing faded.

A faint scent of sandalwood and lavender,

is all that lingers where your hands once roamed.

I've kept it close to me all these years.

In hopes you'll write one again.

But that's all it has been.

Hopes that seemed hopeless to begin with.

I cannot bring myself to crumple it.

Or tear it into small bits.

Deep down I am scared.

Your words have become a second breath to me.

Almost as if I'll die if I stop thinking about them.

We never said goodbye.

But you did say you were bored of this love.

Maybe it's time I threw it away.

The tiny piece of paper that held me a prisoner all these years.

Time for a fresh new me.

One where I don't give up my heart to random strangers.

With a racing heart and a head full of doubts,

I take up the paper and read it again.

For the last time,

I remember your face.

I remember how much in love I was.

And for a final time,

I trace my fingers over your words.

With love, you say,

but it's been dead for a while now.

And now, I think I'll bury it.

But the doorbell rings and I sigh.

The man seems amused by my tears.

He hands me the box all the same,

and then walk away with a good day.

I open the box and there you are.

Smiling from the past like you're still here.

Another piece of paper fall into my lap.

Your words stare at me again.

Fresh scents of sandalwood and lavender fills me.

With love, you say again.

I almost laugh out but then catch myself.

It's wrong to laugh at the dead.

But I still smile, happy.

I held onto you for so long.

And finally when I began to let you go,

you've just gone on.

Maybe what kept you alive for so long was me.

Afterall how could death drag you down,

when I whispered your name to the passing wind,

and wrote it in sand over and over again.

Maybe that's why certain love are born.

To keep the other alive and breathing.

And with every breath I take now,

I remind myself there's someone for me too.

© Moonyloonywitch

01/09/2021

Love is so strange.

It's different for different people.

And it's different during different seasons.

It was a summer afternoon in May,

when I loved someone for the very first time.

I felt like somebody had sprinkled fairy dust inside me.

It felt all tingly and sparkly and good in every way.

Then autumn came and it was September,

when you said you loved me for the first time.

I knew what butterflies felt like in my tummy.

A beautiful cool sensation, jittery yet so magical.

But soon after, winter visited as well.

I was left alone on the park bench,

in the midst of December,

while you held her hand and walked away.

The fairy dust of the summer,

started choking me up.

I ran home and closed the bathroom door.

And ended up puking all over.

I guess those were the butterflies I felt in Autumn,

now all dead and garbage.

As I waited for the winter to pass,

I dreaded the arrival of summer.

I didn't want no more fairy dust and butterflies.

All I wanted was to be me again.

To stop feeling dead and grey all the time.

It was February suddenly,

and I was walking to my favourite coffee shop.

I hadn't been there in a while,

and I missed it like anything.

Half way through my favourite book,

you stumbled upon me and fell.

We smiled and apologized,

and I extended my hand out to you.

It was when you grabbed my outstretched hand,

that I suddenly remembered spring existed as well.

© Moonyloonywitch

10/08/2021

I know I belong.

Here, between the spaces of your fingers, and the crook of your neck.

On your lips and in your eyes.

I've finally found a home far from any other.

The restlessness in me is slowly being put to sleep by your sweet voice, the soft tunes that fall from your lips heals the broken parts of me from within.

For once, the world feels so much more beautiful than it ever was.

Because there's you and there's me. And because that's all that I need.

For once, it's enough.

For once

There was love between us.

Until one day there wasn't.

We just woke up and decided that was it.

And just like that, our paths diverged.

Will they ever cross again?

I don't know.

But everywhere I go, I still get reminded of you.

You might have left,

but not before leaving my soul drenched in your being.

Wherever I go, I can only think of you being there too.

We thought it'd be nice to be free again.

But now the freedom seems to have turned to loneliness.

And with every sunrise I miss you a little more.

You've been absent for a while now,

but I've been loving you nonetheless.

And judging by the way my eyes search for your face in every crowd,

I think I am going to love you always.

Whether you like it or not.

Whether I like it not.

And just like that I am yearning for you again.

And that's when I realised, there's still love between us.

From me to you.

And I'll wait for it to come back.

From you to me.

I miss you.

When will you come home?