What is this urge I have to sleep next to my notebook and pen. To always have them at the reach of my fingertips. To stay up after all lights are out, as my eye lids grow heavier than ever, but I insist to write, write something, write anything, I need the fume of paper more than I need air ,,, do you feel the same ?
Let’s make history. Building our fort one block at a time. Tackling enemies one battle at a time.
Let’s make history. Climbing the ladders we made out of our nemesis’s heads. Crushing the bones of the defilers in their beds.
Let’s make history. Let’s name our swords and sing proudly as they’re brought from their hoards. Out of their thrones they are drawn by mighty sons of nobel lords.
Let’s make history. Let’s leave a mystery. Heirlooms are not our game. Let’s make history. One that would echo through the ages. As we live forever in books and pages.
#100daysofwriting #banafsaj100daysofwriting #day86#makehistory #mywritings #myphotography #english#LateNightRamblings
Seeking a door, a sign, one word.
Trusting you again is like getting into a shoreless sea.
Chocking on my words reminiscing yours.
Once upon a time you were a trust less one.
I see a kaleidoscope of endless possibilities.
But you are no longer the right color in my world.
Reality called today.
Wanted to check if I got the message.
If I understood how to weight my life.
If I still whine about the silly little details of everyday chores.
If I see the small holes in my imperfect world or the beauty of the threads that are woven into the very fabric of life.
Reality called today.
Hit me in my core.
Asked me if I truly understand what I’ve always recited:
Different demons. Same hell.
“Disclaimer: I found this picture on tumblr today and thought how real and relatable this actually is.”
He doesn’t wake up to soft music alarm anymore.. He wakes up to fire drill sounds that scare him out of his sleep.
She doesn’t open her eyes first. She stretches her arms and shakes her shoulder slightly to shed off the beauty of her dream to the horror of reality.
He inhales deep till his lungs inflate to fiery red and exhale hard the fumes of the dream.
She puts pink on her cheekbones to hide the pale of her skin. Perhaps a flashing lipstick, maybe red, definitely not nude color today. She needs more color like she needs air.
He puts on his whitest of clothes. Hides his darkness within. His watch, his pen. The perfect angel from every angel with a halo on his head. He smells of success musked with heavenly fruit.
We all stop for a second in front of our mirrors to check the new reflection. We assess the perfection of the masks we groom our selves with every morning.
Is this how we are supposed to live. Create a mask, survive, revive, & repeat.
Once upon a cage,
I run, breathless, beat less, like a bird flying with its wings for the first time out of its cage. Like a dream turning into reality before the dreamers eyes. Like a prey flying from the hunter…
I want to run…
I see no escape.. I see no end. Just reliving the past as the present and predicting it for the future.
Just a void…