I Like Words.
the robust feelings remained at rear in form of stained ink on a paper medium.
when the zealous affairs are no longer there and one still long after its flairs,
words keep the ardour burning, as it is caressing and everlasting.
Words may not be able to completely evoke the twisted truth,
but words show the depth of relationships, and that’s all really that matters.
who cares if it is a pair of cataclysmic dynamic duo?
words can be assuring, it may also be accommodating.
it doesn’t strike like a haul, instead it’ll take one on a trip down memory lane.
going backward in between words,
there is a glimpse of silver-lining that remained as impalpable as a dream.
but on a bottom line,
as daft as they seem words without experience are simply meaningless.
The Heartfelt Muse
There is no sorry for Loving, all you need to do is express it.
Here is a chain of undisciplined letters that I find both intriguing and vulnerable at the same time. Take a look!
James Dean reckless love letter to Barbara Glenn.
I don’t like it here. I don’t like people here. I like it home (N.Y.) and I like you and I want to see you. Must I always be miserable? I try so hard to make people reject me. Why? I don’t want to write this letter. It would be better to remain silent. “Wow! Am I f up”
So hold everything, stop breathing, stop the town all of N.Y.C.
untill (should have trumpets here) James Dean returns.
Don’t run away from home at too early an age or you’ll half to take vitamins the rest of your life. Wish you cooked. I’ll be home soon. Write me please. I’m sad most of the time. Awful lonely too isn’t it. (I hope youre dying) BECAUSE I AM.