Six. Love is knowing he cares even though sometimes he fails to tell or show.
Five. Love is knowing his embrace holds the power to heal every wound this world can cause.
Four. Love is knowing he will strive to make me smile. No. Matter. What.
Three. Love is looking into his eyes and seeing the compassion, the tenderness and the yearning.
Two. Love is being able to be me, unapologetically and still knowing he wouldn’t judge, or call out names. He will try to make me the best that I can be.
And one. Love is knowing the good and the bad within me and yet sticking around for 6 years.
PS: You never visit my blog or read my poems, so here’s me getting you to do both. Happy 6 Ady, and thanks for all the joys, sadness, craziness, laughter all these years.
When you end up harming
All those you loved,
And somehow leaving
Everything you once had.
Because selfishness is a disease.
Spreading through your whole being,
Eating away at your skin
Leaving you with a core, void and lonely.
And you look back
Only to see their faces fading
And you try hard to draw in every last piece of that picture
To keep as memory and to weep it all out
when the time comes.
But you can’t.
Your selfishness has taken away even the memory of a beautiful life you once had.
You deserve it.
Sitting at the bar, alone, you begin to wonder even you don’t like to be with yourself.
She fell in love. From the moment they first argued and she saw herself losing. She lost to no one and yet, here she was falling and failing completely. not knowing what hit her. Love. May be.
The seemingly everlasting nights, welcoming the sun light like a mother embracing a child after a long day at school. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t lay awake without having him traverse her thoughts, to and fro. she was falling, my friend, she was failing completely, not knowing what hit her.
In how many ways can you break my heart?
You surely know more than one.
And how many times can you stomp it sore?
You surely can do more.
How many times can you beat it blue?
Till my heart bleeds dry,
Until I forget you?
Sometimes sadness fills you up and the emptiness vanishes,
You’re friends with the wounding silence,
And tears do not seem like something you shed out of mere hope
That once this ordeal passes by, you’ll be fine.
But tears turn into the despondence of the one who has given up all hope,
And is no longer anxious, no longer worried, hence no longer concerned about the sorrow
Because, sometimes when sadness fills you, you do not feel hollow anymore,
And that’s a beautiful gift even joy can’t give.