misewordsmith-blog

[misewordsmith-blog]

Work On Being In Love With The Person In The Mirror

A quick reminder to start your day.

Maybe someone can describe you, but that's not going to define your capabilities, your worth, your identity or who you are. Because sooner or later people will just focus on your mistakes and when you continue to fail, they might forget other amazing things that you did. Your life is basically between you and yourself or between you and Him. People are just your companion; your escort, your ally, or someone you can share experiences with. But if you let other people dictate how incredible you are, then you might get insecurities and limitations. Never doubt your worth and just continue shining. Someone is up there rooting for you, and seeing what other people can't with a naked eye.

[misewordsmith-blog]

It Was A Nightmare That I Liked At That Moment.

A month is all we got. That one night was fairly good, got a not objectable hobby; we were both slingly trying to mend until we're fine fettle, filling up not to run empty. Then one became a tool for sexual gratification, or was I? My availability in bed adds to improve a romantic tie-up, but I wasn't good at it. The tendency to not start talking until I've got long words of apologies raised. I was all out for the taking, afraid for what's coming next. Then you gave a number of something unasked and unsought that's too much for me to hand back. You wanted too much; the love, the body, and the innocence. But still, I depleted all existing days trying to blank out a few minutes of your idiocy. You undeniably began someone I never knew.

I attempted to withdraw from you— attempted. You were forthright about my shortcomings, you made me hold responsible even to small problems to great stumbling blocks, and I was dense enough to agree to accept. You made me feel hard to love, like I am what you cannot change; like one less treated by love. I was like something you just worn. I felt profound anger to out-to-out emptiness.

Despite all of that, you put this into words “I am tired explaining” after saying maybe I lost you, maybe. And then that was that, we never talked again.

- misews.

p.s photo on the right is not mine, I got it on wehearit

[misewordsmith-blog]

Love Lasts but a Moment

One day you're going to cease sleeping and note that you shoud've endeavoured, that you should have paid a heed. That you should have not lost interest, that you should have enough courage to persist in being. You should have, but you did not. You let me go.

You have decided what kind of difference you want to make. You wanted to modify from sleeping with me to being just in a state of sleep alone. You wanted a fast paced life so you will not go up and wait for my rendezvous. You don't want to have a future in two forms, since you can just handle one. You don't want to talk about your issues and just continue your innocent flirting. I know, you just don't want to do it with me.

And finally content with being alone.

- misews.

p.s photo on the right is not mine, I got it on wehearit

[misewordsmith-blog]

love n.,

/ləv/

This should come more as verb and not a noun. Oh, how I hated this word; it's been always like a distraction, very uncertain. It sometimes makes one uneasy, or stayed still. It is offered by some in good quality, some are used; some are almost rotten, some are recuperating. But I never wanted one in half, but this thing required in pairs. It is decided, like it doesn't care if you want it or not.

It isn't about giving yourself an extra twenty dollars for some sort of attention. It isn't about trying to justify that black is not just an absent of itself. But this thing will always prove you wrong, like it wants you to put yourself in a situation where all are doubtful.

This is more like suffering.

- misews.

p.s photo on the right is not mine, I got it on wehearit

[misewordsmith-blog]

Like Halls of Hel

A picture so ordinary, but entitled as a few times of mishap. One may decamp a gloomy roof over one's head to rove throughout. One may got drench in pain then learned how to swim. But others imply that they understand depression, for them it's a concept of being flat or unendurable; less serious or so ridiculous. Aside of black and white, the one who suffer from milder forms of depression may be half dead and half alive; half is rotting like corpse. There was something sinister about it— pessimistic; sunless; uninviting; depressing. It makes one numb.

Like one's most famous character, one may feel ashamed towards suicidal thoughts. Then they thought it's only a mood that swings. Approximately, Alex, in fact, it's not. It is not also a side effect of cancer, instead, it's a side effect of not wanting to live. But it is more common and hard to bear; more gloomy and not vivid or bold.

No one wishes to have a dark sleep, where no signs that it may end. Well, love, one wants to throw a little bit of insanity. One may see a fine line between killing oneself intentionally or just fight the same demons that left to stay. And one tends to grief over something which may lead to think of not surviving. One is slowly sinking, deeper and deeper, as if one is falling. This is what depression is like. One's head is a very dark place. Have you ever been sad?

- misews.

p.s photo on the right is not mine, I got it on wehearit

[misewordsmith-blog]

What if?

When love finally reappeared, I will barely recognize it.

I haven’t met love yet before, although I have thoughts of what love looks like, I doubt it. If something is repeating over and over again, it loses its meaning. Maybe love lost its meaning. That’s why I don’t want love to be my favorite thing. I remember things I put in the past that has a sense of déjà vu. But what if love is just back casting? What if love is just a collection of past events? Or if not, maybe, love didn’t come yet.

I have so many questions to answer but what if, what if love is unable to be accounted for?

Or what if love paths can be discovered even without getting lost? Or if not, maybe love was lost. Or maybe, love wasn’t supposed to walk my way.

What if love was just late and I rushed with someone he is not. And when love finally arrives, he thought to go back and start anew. What if love didn’t want to go back?

What if love was dead? What if love was just existed as a deep longing? What if I just have to tear down his walls? What if love doesn’t really exist?

What if someone stopped by and you thought it was love? What if that person leaves?

I would I do? Will I just wait? Why these things looks like it happened before? Maybe it’s really back casting. Maybe love is déjà vu.

What if… What if… What if...

I’m going to walk back to all my ‘what ifs’ and ask again and add on. Then, it came. I have two more questions to ask.

What if I’m the type of woman that men leaves? What if love, isn’t really for me?

- misews.

p.s photo on the right is not mine, I got it on wehearit

[misewordsmith-blog]

Getting Lost in a Book

I read the “The Road Less Travelled” because it explained how love can fulfill life. In any aspect, I always consider the first best way possible; not the one that existed first. There were always roads— one is another choice, but I took the one less travelled, which made a difference. Maybe because it’s one thing that is not really bound to happen, it’s something that will not last forever.

Why love contradict this book? Why they admire people who travelled less? It’s not just curiosity and having enough courage to take progress in any brave decisions—I can’t even say “I love you” to people covered with uncertainness. Maybe M. Scott Peck is wrong.

Or maybe I’m wrong. I’m getting lost in a book. Maybe it means taking the road that people less travelled, or taking a road that is easy to get to one destination. It’s like walking through wilderness— where I have no plans, no map to catch a sight on.

Are you taking the road less travelled by with me? Even we might be lost? Or either of one will walk back, alone; one will continue to move forward, alone?

- misews.

p.s photo on the right is not mine, I got it on wehearit