Time Travel

I wish I could fast forward time. 

I wish I could just skip ahead to the moments of joy in my life. 

Not because I’m afraid of pain. 

I just want to see, if there’s anything else. 

I just need to know, if it’s gonna be worth this. 


Like | Comment | Subscribe 


Quote of the day 

“I want my children to have all the things I couldn’t afford. Then I want to move in with them.” 

~Phyllis Diller

Faded Happiness

You are still a mystery to me, I think.  

A whisper trapped between my ears. 

My demonic angel. 

Fading away in front of my eyes. 


That’s what you are. 

And I am dying to catch that emotion into words; believe me I am. 

For I want to relive it before the blues hit. 

For I need to forgive & let this bruise heal. 

But as it turns out, happiness is an extremely tricky affair. 

And no matter what I write, the ink of bitterness never dries. 

And how selfish you’re, to steal away the answers to all the whys?

But don’t worry, I’m determined. 

I’ll unravel your every impossible riddle.  

And where do I start?

Your letters! 

They make a nice, little stack. 

An emotional volcano. 

Smell of burning paper. 

A quickly closing portal to the past. 

And I know once again I’ve come up short. 

Blew away my chance to fix our faulty start. 

Exploded before I could replay time. 

Boiling, bubbling lava everywhere. 

No sun, all smoke. 

Some rain, raging snow. 

Drowsing out my fiery heart. 

The birth of a frozen soul.

And before I could blink, 

I am in the wind. 

An insignificant grain of sand. 

A rock no more. 

Blown away like house of cards. 

Still sleeping; 

Still dreaming. 

And now- with the same subtlety of your slippery hand, you’re fading;

Fading away; waning slowly from my mind. 

So, I guess it’s a goodbye then. 

It’s a shame- I couldn’t preserve our happy tales. 

You kept the ‘secret recipe’ secret, I guess. 

And before you go, there’s something I need to confess. 

I am not a writer; Never was.  

I’m just a thief, maybe. 

I re-write the stories we wrote together & publish them under my own name.’

Just a thief…

I’m a dealer of pain. 

I’m a merchant of hurt. 

I’m forgetful of my own happiness’s worth. 

And I don’t understand why that is. 

I don’t understand why the god gave me the power to relive my hell;

Without the sight to see even a speck of my heaven. 

Maybe I’m a sinner; 

And this is what my atonement is.

Or maybe it is just the muse’s way of saying-

Some things aren’t meant to be shared; They are only meant to be felt. 

Some moments belong to the person and not the writer.’ 

Or maybe this is all in my head & we aren’t supposed to figure out any answers, at all. 

Maybe we’re only here to ask the questions… 

Happy and sad. 

Maybe that is what this all is. 

A crossroad, a prayer. 

A beginning, a goodbye


Like | Comment | Subscribe 

Quote of the day 

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you; So intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.” 

~Pablo Neruda