A journey

-
If you want to know the truth of who you are: walk until not a single person knows your name. Travel, like time, is a great leveller and an unforgivable teacher. More bitter than a hard truth and crueller than a lover's lie. A long road stretched ahead will teach you more about yourself than a millennia of quiet introspection.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The End.

-
Who was this woman...the minstrel of my heart, the source, and muse of my writings? In truth, she was many women. An amalgamation of experiences and past lovers. Some might find similarities of their own in her descriptions or even think they are her. But no. That could never be because she doesn't exist, or at least exists only in my memories. In the crevices, the mind visits during the dark incalculable hours of the morning. For this reason, I cannot say much of her identity but I can say that she was a wanderer when I first met her. Sometimes I still wonder where she is now, but only briefly. As the adage goes "all things must come to an end" and unfortunately for this character, she must now take a bow.  It's been fun, emotional, and relieving writing here for the past 3 years. To all the people who continued to read and share my posts, I raise a glass to you, to those who didn't...the Lannisters send their regards. The end.
Read more

A simple truth

-
Let me tell you a story… Of a young man who came into a young woman’s life because he saw something was missing in it, only to leave a bigger void once he left. Several years later he stands at her doorstep waiting for her answer. She gasps at the sight of him, recognition filling her eyes. They stare mutely at each other. He notices that she seems older, but that does nothing to diminish her. After all this time her age only makes her more beautiful, the spring bud she was back then is incomparable to the flower that stands before his eyes. ‘You're beautiful’ he says, the words less a compliment than a simple truth. She laughs, and he knows at that moment that if he could bottle up that sound: he would have gotten drunk on it every night. She lets him in and they talk of small things for a time, too scared to scratch at a long-healed wound. After some time he turns to leave and as he reaches the door she says, “you always used to tell me the most beautiful lies”. He stop...
Read more

Daisy

-
I am neither a poet nor a wise man, but I can say that looking at this young lady was like staring at an open flame: you know it’s bad for you but you can’t help but stare. Wherever she stood she became the center of the room, not because she was loud or crude, but for the same reason a fire draws the attention of those around it: its warmth. I can not begin to describe her because the issue would be in comparison…if I told you she had black hair you would compare her with other women you have known to have black hair. But those women would not have her presence, her easy laughter, or her beauty. In what manner was she beautiful? I cannot say enough, so since I cannot say enough at least I will avoid saying too much. Instead, I will only say that she was lovely.
Read more