As the stars in the velvet sky set fire to my eyes

it's the end of an era, of my life

I BREAK FREE

✧

x libbythepencil x

I'M SORRY

for what?

saying that you didn't matter

and?

turning my back against you

anything else?

leaving. staying. talking. staying silent.

I miss you and I wish that I could do it all over...

... (silence)

i'm really sorry and i want you to know that.

I'm just in your head and you know it. It's too late. You knew that I was going. You know that I am gone, gone with your tears from long ago.

... (silence)

I miss you too.

x libbythepencil x

As I sit here in my desk,

Thinking of what is next.

I don't have a clue

Of what to do...

Sighing and dying from boredom.

---Until---

I see Prose

Where there is no boredness

but creativity.

I think the smell of rain is damp and slightly earthy. You can probably define it in any way, it can be different for all people. A person who has lost can think that rain smells salty, like tears. A person who is full of joy can think that rain can smell like a happy memory, the warm embrace of a loved one or the smell of something delicious being cooked. A person who never came back from their inner wars could think that rain smells like the battlefield, or the metallic scent of a gun. I don't know how it smells like for you, but each droplet has its own story to tell.

☂︎

Ode to all the flames. That's right. The flames, those that consume everything in its path and cause the strongest foundations to crumble, licking at the sides of people's hearts. Burning everything they touch. (Of course, they can be reduced to small cooking fires but where's the drama in that?)

The flames hiss and spark before my eyes, but my vision is focused all around me. I am soon to be enveloped in flames. Soon, they will rare, like a snake, poising to make its kill on a small mouse. I will be burnt to crisp. The dense smoke parches my throat and I think to myself, "What a way to die. A matchstick, a box of tissues, and hand-sanitizer." I can't stand it any more. Collapsing to the floor, all I can think of is your face, swimming in the smoke.

A strong smell of burnt chicken meets my nostrils. I feel strangely cool, despite all the flames around me. Hmm. I can finally breathe too. I look down, I recieve a shock. I am covered in head to toe in feathers, scarlet and gold feathers that glow like embers. I scream, but instead of a human voice, I hear a low, soft musical cry emitted from my mouth? Beak?

Ah. I get it now. All this born anew, rising from the ashes stuff. A phoenix, that's what I am. Destined to live in the flames, no longer recognisable by those whom I love. A momentary flame. Smoke, disappearing too fast before you can see me.

WARNING: FLAMMABLE SUBSTANCE. KEEP AWAY FROM FLAMES.

⽕

A raindrops falling from

the fluffy clouds.

Memories

that fill my head,

Happy and light- hearted ones

just like the clouds.

She dreamed

in rainbow colors,

tracing

silver clouds

with gold,

but

tears painted

wax shutters

on the windows

to her soul.

Black and Blue

on Flesh;

a Charcoal

portrait of remains —

Chalk-White

outlining Ash;

she’d finally

cordoned off

her pain.

I think about you when it rains.

Everytime I hear the soft, almost tuneful plop plop of raindrops on my foggy window, I remember the little girl in wellington boots who loved splashing about in puddles, spinning her umbrella around in the sky.

I think of her bedraggled hair and her grin and her cheeks wet with rain. I think about her mists of breath fogging up the glass panes of the car windows as she watches the bushes and trees speed by.

I remember her sweet voice, humming (slightly out of tune) "My Favourite Things" from the sound of music and her struggles to remember all the lyrics. I remember her tinkling laughter, like the sound of bells, when she tries running from the murky stormclouds in the sky, but ends up failing miserably.

When I look in the mirror, I can see her looking right back at me. I can see her in my eyes. I know she's still there inside me, no matter what.

✬

libbythepencil

Mellifluous. It sound so beautiful and charming, like the way that the birds chirp at dawn, the colours of the sunrise perched on their small plumed shoulders. Sweet and enjoyable, nature's own lullaby.

Have you ever heard of the turquoise- browed motmot? Its song is mellifluous. It is a stunning bird of paradise that can be found in South America, known as torogoz. They live in dense rainforests to hide their beautiful plumage. They have a turquoise brow, as their name suggests, but the thing that I believe is the most wonderful about them is their tail plumage. The top of the tail closest to the body has flat feathers of a bright blue colour, while the end of its tail is, in my opinion, shaped like a tulip. The feathers encircle each other to form a flower shape that is hollow in the middle.

But why am I telling you all this? The turquoise- browed motmot is just one of the infinite things in life that are irresistably beautiful, and they bring tears of joy. But the most delightful and lovliest things in life cannot be seen with the eyes, they cannot be heard with the ears.

They are felt by the heart.