The stupidest, most honest, craziest, and soundest advice I can ever give you is to be the most stubborn person alive. If someone tells you authors don't make money, do your absolute best to prove that person wrong. I don't believe anyone can do anything. Instead, I believe the most stubborn will persevere. Don't take challenges against authors. Instead, challenge yourself out of your pure stubborn will. Then you will be successful because then you have proven the bastards otherwise.
Floating, flying, possibly dying
Never have I felt so secure in the tiny things. Your hand gripping mine, as our lips clash, ground me in the moment. Because I am afraid that if you were not holding me down, I would start to float away.
I would float away because there is none of me left. I gave it all to you.
The Fantasy of Love
This is not a fantasy with magic--not one with dragons soaring through the sky. There are no happy endings, and there is no good or bad. No, I can only wish to learn magic or cause seasons to change.
Ever since I was young, I used to dream of those fantasies. Wondering aimlessly, I would get lost in my own head-- escapism from a dull life would be what some may call it. Even as I try to better myself, remove myself from those fantasies, I find myself falling into the escapism again. Novel after novel devours me, making me feel like I have escaped the escape that was trying to conquer my life, but it was a disguise of the monster, lurking in the corner in a cute, welcoming, deceiving form. The temptation to run away into my head can't be all bad. It feels so innocent, so natural. Yet, I have to ask myself; is this really what I want? Do I wish to live my life or simply imagine it? I think not. The truth is I am using these fake fantasies to cover up my real dream-- my real fantasy: to be loved.
I miss when I was younger. I miss when my only worry was what imagnary world I'd live in that day. Now, it seems that my childhood has passed me by while I sat and daydreamed my life away. I wish I could say that I want to go back in time to change the past, but to honest, the imaginary worlds are much preferable to the real ones.
Beauty is overrated. I much prefer a brain with creativity overflowing into each thought of yours. I prefer your brilliant eyes fluttering though each line of my art.
Ending with a Beginning
Golden rays shine from above, glistening down onto the water below. The colors clash and fight over domince in the sky like two lovers playfully fighting in bed. It's almost romantic if it were not for the fact that it would all come to an end in a matter of minutes. It's almost symbolic in a way. All good things, love, friendship, family, must come to an end. Even the tiny things like a sunset must end at somepoint, but at least I can take solice in the fact that the next night someone new can watch the sun just as others have done for centuries before and more will do for centuries to come.
Coffee with a lost friend
If we were having coffee,
your imaganation would be running wide,
your hand gently touching mine
if we were having coffee,
life would feel so far apart,
like a college kid with no where to start
if we were having coffee,
i'd feel your love again,
I'll hold it close but then
again I know you have other friends
Good things never last. That's what I've always thought, and maybe on some level it is true. Even if love won't last forever, the moments in it are enough. The sporadic sparks of joy spiraling through your body are enough to get you addicted to the words, and the soft touches of another human being are enough to make you finally feel comfortable within yourself. Love makes you grow as a person. Suffering, arguing, a middle ground, sacrifices, understanding, forgiveness, striving to better each other are all love. Without any love, our personalities would stay stagnent and bitter. Wether your love is one of family, friends or romantic, it is important to the core of who you are. These interactions will help you find who you are.
Truth is a thing full of lies,
hiding behind the most deceptive eyes.
Even the most assertive,
find a time where all is uncetrain.
Certatiny used to be taken for granted,
but if you want me to be candid,
not even death is certain for all
because we don't know what comes after the fall.
I thought I was special. Now, I know I'm not. My dreams have died, restless nights all for nought-- nothing but a background character that contributes little to the plot.