The painter in the poet’s mind

People come and go. People love. People hate. Things begin. Things end. Life is magical. Life is painful. What’s behind of all this but time.
Time is the player. Time controls us. We thought we’re wasting time, but it’s time that’s wasting our life. We believe we’re using time properly, but it’s time that deliver us to right moments. Time drives us to love and joy.

But it is also Time that imprison us to numbness and forlorn.

I know. Because time hurt me.

The tick awakens with a heart beat, 

and seconds fill the minute,

when I met the soul, 

that beautifies my ghoul”


HER

The room is nothing but of people with noisy chatters and smell of cigars in the air. I see nothing but a mob of the same faces and of the same lies. When suddenly, in the corner stood a man with a paint brush and a palette, painting the most beautiful art I have ever seen. But his calm and fierce eyes is a breathtaking masterpiece that swept me off my feet.

“The time suddenly rushed,and brought me to an unexpected love.

Time is our matchmaker,It is not cupid, but Time that brought us together”

“We are vested with its power, if nothing breaks time, and so does I and the love of mine.

 Time can stop life and bring the world to its end, but it is also time where ‘Forever’ mends”

All of him and his imperfections are as astounding as the universe, a masterpiece he perfected without painting it. His smile and his stares are the pages I try to read, wondering if his mind and me rests on the same place. He is all the beautiful quotations that can be found on my favorite book, the one I will read again and again.

His sweet, husky voice that speaks a lullaby between night and day, whispers to me when no one else was there to hear. And the words that he speak are the missing lyrics of a song within me. Suddenly, all the songs are about him.

Until he became my everything.

What breaks time? When we are in the spell of time, it kept me believing we are indestructible.

Time brought another hand in the clock, when we thought our promises were locked. Time causes something to arrive and stays, and it is also the brain why something has to leave the waves.

I watch how things got messed up by a single second. I felt how my heart cried in agony when you’re with someone else. I cried the nights when the moon wasn’t there to console me. There’s too much pain, until the wounds swallow me.

So I bargain my life to numbness. I won’t feel any pain,but it has come with a price.

 I won’t be happy either.
“He left.” That’s the last thing I saw.

He left, believing it’s all over. When I hope it’s not.

He left, probably thinking I don’t care anymore. 

He left, believing I don’t love him anymore. When in fact, I still do.

“When?

Today.”

HIM

The vast of space went on for all eternity, 

and time recently ticking silently

a question left of the painter,

 and a mystery left of the writer

Where is she?

“She left,” are the last words I heard about her.

She left, believing it’s all over. When I hope it’s not.

She left, thinking I don’t care anymore. 

She left, believing I don’t love her anymore. When in fact, I still do.

“When?” Said he

“Yesterday”

Only then that the painter knew, there is only one thing that could ruin time

Only then the writer realized what could oppose time

 She left. He left. I’m late.

“Time can bring all magic to its end, yet it is also time where forever mends.

 Nothing can break the swirl of time, no space can widen what’s left of mine.”

” nothing can ruin time but time itself, even if it can be locked in a shelf, 

but time can be messed up by those who can’t wait, or by those who are a second late”


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Writing is Love!

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