Wednesday, June 09, 2010

You took away the chair and now you threaten my room. I walk from one corner to the other to see if you've changed. My world is locked inside a glass jar and still it rains. The windows of this mind is somehow open. Even in lies we speak the truth, they say. But we think we cannot be forgotten. They can only toss their words and let the winds drag them away. How can anyone be yours? What must you give to take and not look back? How can you care but not so much? The birds are never alone in the sky. Morning comes in every death, or something like that. I am an old fool and you are my song.


Blogger Product Junkie said...

J, once again you've written a lovely piece. There is certain melancholic quality to your writings. It does not leave me sad, but instead I smile about how beautifully you’ve put it together.

11:11 PM, June 10, 2010  
Blogger J said...


11:36 PM, June 10, 2010  
Blogger Ana said...

u r bk to ur true-blue(s) ways

3:42 PM, June 14, 2010  
Blogger J said...

I don't know if it's a good thing or not, Ana. To suffer, they say, is to to exist.

5:02 PM, June 14, 2010  
Blogger Ana said...

Exactly, I pray you don't suffer, but the beauty of your writing comes from your suffering. Well-written!!!

1:38 PM, June 15, 2010  

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