How Many Drops Before It Ends?

Some Days...

No Light, No Light

This Is How I Have Remembered You

Your Whole is Greater than the Sum of Your Parts

The Night Sky Calls to You Tonight

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

Art and Self Expression

Expressing yourself is essential to truly live life. If you are unable to express yourself, you cannot communicate and relate, and communicating and relating with one another is the only way to truly feel, and live life. Expressing yourself does not mean you have to be good with words, a fluent speaker. You can express yourself through your music, the music that you make and the music you listen to, your doodles on your class notes, or a painting of your own, or even collecting cutouts, pictures and paintings; anything that you relate to, that expresses and inspires you. Whether it is a Van Gogh painting, or Paul Signac, or that half crappy painting you made when you were stoned (but you secretly admire).

You can express yourself through your words, your poems of three lines or a whole essay, through your choice of clothes, decoration, or any hobby for that matter. You can express yourself through the films that you make or watch, the photos that you take. Hell you can even express yourself through your Instagram posts.

You can express yourself through a handshake, a hug, a smile, a kiss, in the way you make love, in the way you communicate with others through words or body language. Whatever medium you choose, express yourself and express yourself well. For in doing so, you form connections, meaningful ones, and meaningful connections are the only way to truly live life.

Make art, collect art, engage yourself with art.

Constance 4

Little things like these make me the happiest. Moments that may, at first glance, seem insignificant, but which warms me up from within. I never knew before just how much they would mean later, when they are no longer moments, when they turn into memories. But now I know, and I am trying my best, learning to appreciate them as they happen, when they are still moments.

It is 2 in the morning and we are in the kitchen. The Black Keys are playing and we are singing along to Weight of Love in our shorts and t-shirts. You are standing in front of the stove, slowly and carefully bending in your attempt to make perfect omelettes. I'm looking at you, and you are so beautiful. You don't even know all this beauty you hold. I know you and I know you are beautiful in your kindness, in your strength, in your laughter and in your pain.

You're making me laugh again. You always make me laugh. You say something stupid, and I laugh like it is the funniest thing I've heard. You come in front of me and we laugh together like we have no pain. Then you come even closer and hold me in your arms, my head on your chest and your hands stroking my hair, and for that moment, everything feels right and I have no pain. Nothing hurts for as long as that one eternity in your arms lasts. I am happy.

This is the best kind of happiness. The kind that you feel deep inside. Like a lantern glowing in the deepest part of your heart, it warms you up from the root. It is not too hot that it blazes you, but it is just right. Slowly but surely, that kind of happiness warms you up throughout.

Constance 3

I haven't been able to write anything of meaning in a while, but if I did, I'd like to write about you. I always like to write about you, Constance. With your beaming brown waves and your ocean blue eyes,you can't pass a mindful writer's brooding without inspiring a few words.

The first time I wrote of you, you were running up a green hill, and I, as always, was trying to catch up with you, running behind as fast as my legs could push me. But today, you are here with me. We are lying on thin ice, literally. We are lying down on this frozen river beside the highway, and you are holding my hand. The wind is playing with your hair tonight, a strand of brown wave across your soft, pink cheeks. You're looking up at the night sky, and I'm looking at you.

I always look to you.

I know very well that our icy scaffold may break any time. But you know what? I know I'll be alright, like you will be. After all, you're the one who taught me how to swim.

Will I Ever?

Perception

I Hope You Know

You, My Loneliness and I

I have had my share of pain that drains your very soul, but nothing hurts more than realising that you are yet alone in your loneliness.

I mistook a beating heart for a dampened spirit.

Our souls are not moulded by the same hands.

In the end, it is always my loneliness and I.

Because all this time, it was never you and I.

Often, I Drown Myself in Poetry

The Only Warmth I Ever Needed

What is Mine to Give