THEY SAY THAT the weak have no right to say no but, who affirms that there yes is not a NO ?
Eventually, I am getting old, old but fine, like gold. If you'd asked me, five years ago, I wouldn’t have predicted patches of happiness even for a day in my life. But here I am, getting old— and loving it, to the moon.
a happy birthday to me on this 10th
Love can be mastered. Days as they surpass each other love can grow where it never was. Though, the art of loving yourself is surely a hard seed to plant, grow or finally harvest.
the decision is always ours
What's heartbreaking is, that some don't even understand the love they demand and desire to be given and this has tremendously led to more oceans of sorrow and unbearable pain.
In this decorated room, my soul murmurs a prayer that at least this time, this manufactured happiness can last more than just a nights sleep and that I can forget all of myself without coming back the next day for another glassed antidote.
And the prominent
question man
is not in who
loves us,
but
in who returns
the love
when we offer
it first.
We gambol dances that oppose our hearts.
We beam smiles that contradict our feelings.
We walk into roads that tremble our souls
We get to grisps with things our bodies loathe
Our hearts are wrecking and agonizing yet;
we must remember not to weep since tears have been labeled for the weak and we yearn to be counted among the valiants.
They wanted me to become a man who fights for his respect. But I became a man who respects himself. And that’s how I became awkward— and I loved
that
kind of awkwardness.
I don’t doubt, sometimes, that I may not make it, among the chosen ones, the steadfast, the unwavering, the ones who stood firm against sin.
But still, I try. And my trying will only cease the day He has fated my end. Perhaps by then, I will have earned my passage to the joys and everlastings of His promise.
I still hope. I still see the possibility. I still long to be part of that eventuality, in the land where milk and honey flow.