empty words

my days starts with thoughts of you.
but will you say that you love me and show me that you care....
my love will always be with you..

above is an excerpt from a song currently playin on the radio. this should not be the flow of this essay, but somehow the lyrics of the song catched my attention and now i'm writing this one. i am writing this for someone far away from me. that someone i am loving from a distance. when i think of you i am thinking how can i ever show you my affection and prove you my love. how can i ever prove myself worthy?
sometimes when i ask myself this questions, i get to think if are you pondering the same questions, or, if does matter to you anyway. i want to think of the good times so that i can continue my feelings, but how weak am i and how untrue are these feelings. when i admire you only for the good times, and detest the bad. i pondered upon these thoughts and i prove it wrong, immaterial to the growth of my love for you. i love you, for who you are, bad or good as they may be. i love you for your past, present and future.

fate or destiny? choice? why it should be you? of all people. perhaps because God has his own reasons, and i hope these reasons are also my reasons. because i believe i cannot love a person for no reason, whatever they maybe, even how shallow they can be. all i need to do is to accept these reasons and let my reasons will also be yours. :)

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but tell me, why am i writing with no soul in my words. like an empty shell loaded to a gun. why can't i feel anything from this?

born an artist

why is writing and sketching always give me the sense of immortality? and it never disappointed me to make me feel good after. i think i was really born for art in its many forms, i am born for poetry, literature, paintings, sketches, colors, i am born to manifest art and its beauty. i am art's daughter, though prodigal at times, for i always deviate forms. however, art, has been a very good father to me, he lets me do whatever i want for he knows that is how i give birth to originality and beauty. i love symbols. in all forms. i love letters and colors and lines. they love me as well for they never cease to give me a wonderful feeling every time.
"everyone is born a poet, an artist. however, not everyone knows they are."

about internal traffics, and fixing gutters

inspiration comes rare in a lazy afternoon, comes rare to a person who all did was laze around and staer at the ceiling contemplating about the whole universe. however, as  a defence, hey there is alwasy something intellectual in idling. perhaps, because it is in idling that you sometimes bump on something interesting and discover things you never expected to know. like an affirmation of love, or like loving someone you just affirmed in your head. or discovering the law of gravtiy or motion and whatnots. well enough, i wouls say this is the productive kind of procrastination, ideas juggling in your head trying to find their place in your almost crowded lane of thoughts, always in traffic, bumper to bumper, not keeping distances, all wants to be the first to notice. to b free from the subconscipous and be written in a piece of paper or be put into something out of the head. tobe realized and substantialized and concretized. but, i cannot do them all at once. that is why my ideas needs proper sorting and flow of the traffic should be ameliorated so that there would be smooth flow of thoughts. when will i accomplish this? i don't know or maybe after i fix the gutters and some broken lanes in my mind.

and speaking of cleaning gutters and fixing broken lanes, i noticed for it is noticable and the politcians' real purpose is to be noticed for it is near election already. of course, they want to impress us; or could also be, they want to impress something in our heads: "hey, this road has been made possible through the initiative of Cong. ________, mayor _______, or councilor ____________," . just the hell of it. it is not supposed to be an initiative, it is a direct responsibility for them to make these actions. or perhaps they just want to magnify there projects by adding INITIATIVE so that people will think, oh this person is a genius, he initiate the cleaning of the gutters and the lanes, so on and so forth and i feel like vomiting by all their shits. and so politicians make all these "pakulo" just to appear conspicous in the eyes of the people, to appear like they are really doing something... near the end of their terms! huh! fools. think we don't know these stuffs? i don't know how should i convince myself not to be cynical towards politicians, or should i even take some efforts to convince myself, nah, they are all the same. they are all the same to me. i don't know from the majority if they also think this way, because i think it is the otherwise.

anyway, i am not supposed to write something about this. but well, this is how my mind goes, it goes somewhere i never planned it to go. :) i partially forgot why i should be writing now. and honsetly, i totally cannot bring back the feelings and inspiration i had earlier, no matter how much i try to be in it again. oh well, perhaps it will visit me tonight before i sleep. so that i could write something for him.

dry river

i am writing in empty words again. pretensions and stage acts cannot fill in the hollowness within. it is like writing on sand, leaving no tracks as soon as the waves reach the shore. ephemeral, momentary, short-living, fleeting, insignificant now and forever be forgotten in oblivion. i am dying to write for someone for i have been writing for myself most of the time. (this one has nothing to do with this entry.)

i feel like deserted by ideas, not expressions, by soul, not words.

have i forgotten how to write? no.
i just ran out of reason.

random thoughts

behind those soft brown eyes are yearnings you hide: "i should have fucked you while i can." 

in love with his writings

i am in love, and maybe forever will be, with your writings. <3 i wish you could write something for me, someday. who ever that girl you dedicate your writings to, she's the luckiest. unfortunately she doesn't know she is.

still home

STILL YOUR HOME


far away you may go,
to distant islands you know
meet people, count the miles
be happy and forget the time
only one thing i want you to know,
when you come back
i'm still your home.

darling, as the clock ticks
and your heart beats fast
for the things you yearn,
trust that my love will last
even if it's not your concern.
you might be with strangers
and go to strange places,
but when you come back
feel the familiar love you have known,
i'm still your home.

chorus:

waiting, i'll be waiting
with my face on the window
hoping for your coming
a flower i held
in my hands,
like i held trust
in my heart.

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i wrote this while thinking of you. i hope someone will lay a good tune on it.