i've gotten hooked on to this song
Traffic signal is cute too! but not that great ...
the time is not yet right, to feel the things i'm feeling.
many things, but predominantly these: old, helpless, wistful, sad, spent.
i feel them in advance, bcz i can almost see it from here.
there's still a long way to go, before i can say i am so sorry i failed,
or that i didnt succeed more. didnt live a shade more vibrantly,
but i doubt that i'll be able to lift the weight of anymore milestones,
or the millstones on the price tags.
its watching these visions of dreams, heroism and romance
that does it. did i ever get there?
i'd thought it would last forever if it ever came,
but like everything else, glory comes in its time
and quietly whimpers away.
we live and die ordinary, grey, everyday colours and shades.
why do dreams ever flare?
teasingly, tauntingly, persisntantly,
why do the keep coming to visit nights?
technicolour, silly, grandiose,
love, ambitions and fairytales.
was life worth living, if this was to be how the end?
comfortable, loving, warm,
good, boring, insipid
is it true, the view from this point on the road?
is this the way we'll go? is it worth anything saying i wont let it?
yet i know i probably wont give up so easily.
but the thought of it makes me tired these days. such a long way
'long is the way and hard,
that out of darkness leads to light'
we go through most of life alone.
we have friends we hang out with,
we have people to talk to,
we have things to do and places to go and people to go with,
so what is it that we are still left longing for?
what is that little extra something
which we so desperately, secretly, universally long for?
is it love? or is it just posession? ownership?
she, (my springs of life?) who loved me so much,
used to say love is the most selfish feeling ever ...
and a mothers love the most selfish of them all.
i wish i had seen what she was saying then.
maybe you had it right all along
it was a possession thing that it was all about
but life goes on, doesnt it?
life, or something like it.
like ghosts in the dark, and afternoon faeries in the woods
visions of fascinating, mesmerising, tantalising impossible dreams
and ghoulish nightmarish memories of daemons of the past
follow you through with equal ardour as you run through the woods
this is not why i came to the woods
the impossibility of the dream, does not dampen
the wild rush of blood to the head
the racing pulses, the fleeting madness
of one second, one breathless instant,
one single glance, one feeble hope, one fading dream
like the weak sunlight of the morning
that tries to clear the the still throbbing reality of
the dream that has been awoken, and hushed
but the echoes live on, all day, every day
ur thoughts are as all pervasive,
as they are stupid.
please leave my head!
love brings hope and sunshine.
love wakes the dead.
dying, the gentlest and sweetest of love,
becomes a haunting, empty numbness.
i dont know which i fear more:
the sweetness of your torture,
or the fear of ur fading.
what hurts more:
the pain, or its easing.
losing u is hard enough;
i dont want to lose ur sorrow.
isnt it sad when u seek out the cruel in someone hungry for some trace for real, tangible, human emotion, experience? or is it sadder that there always is some core of cruelty to be found. or is it sadder that thats the only emotion that will ever manage be able to cross the threshold of intensity of ur hunger, from most people?