There are times when writings is useless.
When the similes go on for too long like when the ocean merges with the sky and your eyes cannot the define the boundary between each crystalline blue and it is almost sublime because there is no end or no beginning and that is what I think of you. Infinite

There are times when art is not enough.
Like those times I cannot make the right mixture of the hue of that lovely tint in your eyes and, of course, not matter how many times I trace you in the canvas those lips like rose petals will never move and say "Me too."

There are times when music is lacking.
How you remind me of a melody each and every single time I see you and despite trying to trap the melody in these useless music sheets nothing comes but a few missing music notes that birds and composers have not and will not fathom.

But if I could write you down in paper,
I'd let the words scramble away once more because the free verse of your world intrigues me further more than finite verses on washed out paper.

If I could paint your essence,
Life would be a monochrome film,no more technicolour, no more blushing cheeks. I like you much more in this everlasting landscape where you can dye the world a million colours and still search forevermore

If I could play you in to melody,
The poor birds would be envious and the world would be a quiet place without composers able to eclipse that lovely song of yours. And yet, I love this cacophonous world in which everyone is deaf to you but I who can discern such a faint, dainty tune.

There are those times, you know?
When I know I'm not good enough but if I could, I still would not.

We didn't last forever;
the word attaches shackles
and chains that restrain,
and is better left unspoken--
never uttered, always locked
in the bars of my ribcage
where it restlessly remains
in utmost agony.

Then,
it stops.

The silence haunts me,
and my ribcage is imbalanced.
With laughter filled with tears,
and nonchalance juxtapose passion,
I whisper:

"Nothing lasts forever.
We fell apart like rose petals
amongst heavy storms."

The mask slips;
I avert my
red-rimmed eyes.

"But we could have--
oh darling,
we could have."

In that period of time he began pouring his trust into a half a pint cups of local beer and cheap cigarettes, local as well, which he could afford, who would have guessed?...
He used to gaze at girls with a curious and contemplative look that was also full with sadness and despair, instantly advocating for the holy mission and function of the prostitutes and the escort ladies and he already a abandoned the idea of having a pet except the turtle.
From time to time he use to scribble incomprehensible prose and poetry and couldn't find any condolence even in Hemingway or Cobain.
His only consolation was with the pen and watching the sunset off the sandy sea shore, for he could be sure that the same sun isn't dying buy only moving to a better place.
It seemed like he will leave after him numerous beginnings for stories and a lot of middles as well...
Sometimes, it would have seems to him that the first end he's going to write is going to be his own.
Leaving behind communities of characters that all their world is nothing but a few words, that seems like they are going to prosper and blossom but they were faded and gone like the sole of the candle's flame on top of a birthday cake, which was blown off while giggling her childhood laughter, leaving behind a delicate and curly thread of smoke, that is gone in a blink of an eye.
At the age of twenty-two he began writing his own eulogy, like this miserable old woman, preparing her own shrouds, but from that too he was finely despaired.

I wish I could unsee myself.

And then come back in a little while and lay untrained eyes upon the skin I’m forced to wear.
Would it all look the same?
I’d trace all the lines to their ends and find something I didn’t hate in my appendages.

There’s truth in them bones.

Under layers of ligaments, blood, and a whole assortment of other lies, they lie in wait.

They know we’re just borrowing any time we find and we never really owned that breath we try so desperately to hold inside.
There’s a reason for that chill running down your spine.
But I brushed it aside and left my bones in a closet while I found a new place to hide.

I want to let them out but they’re buried so deep under piles of ***** laundry and sorrow-soaked organs.
And I’m worried that with each new ache time makes that I won’t be able to shake them back awake

But I'm still alive.
And so if existence is resistance then maybe I can still win this

So I’m going to tear it all off,
The tattered rotten garbs that so desperately cling to my bones like parasites along for the ride,
Eating up what little marrow remains inside.

Maybe then I can chisel this monkey off my back and finally make myself perpendicular to the ground,
And show gravity that it’s not always that easy to keep me down.

And anyway, I’ve been looking to lose a few pounds.

Some things never matter
Some people never care
Some souls never wander
Some heroes never dare.

Some lips never smile
Some eyes never stare
Some love lasts for a while
Some hearts break and wear.

Some books stay with dust
Some flowers die under the rain
Some friends we can't trust
Some stories end up in vain.

Some tongues speak lies
Some smiles take away pain
Some kisses end loud cries
Some promises never remain.

Some glitters never shimmer
Some fame doesn't last a lifetime
Some sad songs forget about summer
Some writers forget about dime.

Some poems are just written
Some poems are out in the sun
Some poems are carefully hidden
Some come out when the poet's gone.

i long to hear your voice,
to laugh and just be there for you again,
just to be with your presence,
just to see that glimpse of your soul again.

we used to be something,
everywhere i go, everywhere you go : we used to be an item,
and, now, i walk with a new crowd, you walk with yours,
yet my heart yearns for you,
there's a hole when you left,
and, i can't just fill it up,
everything seems meaningless,
there's no spark in my life without you.

i feel this emptiness.
this gaping hole,
which just keeps on growing,
the one you made when you left,
because i have chosen the wrong one,
i made the wrong choice,
i did not picked you..

when i breathe at night,
my throat constricts,
it chokes up,
memories flood in my silent night.

i remember the days,
our days,
when it is just you and me,
in our own little happy bubble,
rain, snow, fall, sunshine,
you were there for me,
in my light and in my darkness,
in my good and in my bad,
you never complained,
you held me,
you were my glue that prevents me from shattering,
from my melancholic train of thought,
when i fall, you were there to hold me up,
you embrace me in your warmth,
when I’m all melancholic, you were there to cheer me up,
you know when to buy me flowers,
you know when I’m sad,
you know whether i'm just feeling sad or when it's just me in my melancholic moments,
and you understand that its just a phase,
you know me the way no one knows me,
you’re my everything,
you’re my valentine,
you WERE my valentine.

now, that you're gone,
I’m building a fort now,
just putting up walls after walls,
layering them up in solitude,
after all the heartbreak I’ve felt this year,
all the betrayal, all the confusion,
all the dark colours of human nature I’ve experienced,
because, i cannot handle that amount of pain ever again.

despite all my defences,
the walls that guard my heart,
the scar you left me,
it's still there.
all i can do,
is to be reminded how good you were for me.

i am much more stable now,
yet i crave for those days where you were always there to support my craziness,
you embraced me for who i am,
you never call me stupid when i am being irrelevant,
you never call me dumb when i am being illogical,
my bipolarity was never an issue for you.
you were my yin to my yang.

i love you so much, val, i still do.

i have never missed someone as much as I’ve missed you.