Do you know why I love to shower?
Because that, honey, is when I try to remove your touch from my skin
I would drown myself to stop hearing your whisper by my ears
I would cover my eyes to stop looking for you in every brown-eyed man.
I can't help but wonder how
can I still recall clearly the voice of you trembling my name
I can still feel your lips press against my neck
and your tongue glides down my back.
I can still feel your fingers carry my cheek and fondle my lips
The smell of cigarettes on your fingers is still haunting me every time I smoke
You carry flavor of the freshest berry on earth
You smell like sunshine in Autumn
You feel like Summer rain pouring down to the thirsty hungry me
and you sound like bamboo wind chime hanging by a spring.
You-are-my-inspiration.
So please give me a clue
how much do I have to write
to let you know
that I give up on forgetting you.
Yet you keep letting my mind run so wild
by blinding me in the darkness of silence.
It doesn't matter how much I warily
embrace everything about you in every cell of my body.
Yet, still, the detail of your face
the conversations we had
the sound of your laugh and the image of your smile
are leaving me.
thanks for breaking me
Dư âm
Tôi buồn như hạt gạo vỡ
nhận ra rằng không gì ở lại mãi.
Ngay cả ký ức
cũng sẽ mờ dần.
Mặc cho mọi nỗ lực níu giữ có mạnh mẽ ra sao.
Dù em có ôm tôi bao lần,
dù em đã từng cố gắng xoa dịu tôi
như thể mài mòn vết sẹo trong lòng,
thì khi yên lặng bao trùm lấy không gian này
khoảng trống luôn còn ở đó,
vẫn sẽ rộng ngoác,
và sâu thẳm.
Khuyết
Em ơi,
Em đi đã bao lâu rồi?
Chiếc áo em để quên ngoài hiên,
Nay đã bạc màu.
Còn tôi thì bạc lòng,
bạc phận,
chờ em.
Bạc
To the youths,
the hopeless,
the loser,
the lonely,
and to the torn down:
Sometimes you just need to sink
like a stone
to the deepest of darkness.
Let it be,
allow yourself to sink.
But make sure to never lose hope;
keep even merely a spark in you.
And surely one day,
you will arise
you will survive
you will find your own salvation.
Dear,
Em ơi,
những ngày này,
tôi cứ trôi lững lờ vô định, đâu đó phía trên đường tuyến tính thời gian.
Tôi không thấy mình sống trong hiện tại, nhưng song song với việc đó, tôi, một cách quyết liệt và giận dữ, tránh nhìn về quá khứ. Tôi thả cho những cột mốc thời gian đắm chìm, và mờ đi để mình như kẻ cận thị lặn ngụp mò mẫm tìm kính dưới bể sâu.
Tương lai là những gạch đầu dòng nhoe nhoét, nát bét những vết xoá rồi viết lại, rồi lại gạch xoá.
Khoảng trống ngày càng rộng ngoác, ngày càng đặc quánh như hố đen nuốt chửng mọi cố gắng lấp đầy.
Em à, tôi chẳng cần gì nhiều ngoài một chiếc ôm chan chứa những yêu thương thật lòng, không nhục dục.
Và em có thể sẽ nói rằng tôi tham lam, vì tôi mong thêm cả một cái nắm tay, xiết chặt.
Em,
Có niềm vui nào ở lại?
Có nỗi đau nào không nguôi?
Có cô gái nào
đi qua đời tôi
dấu chân không mờ.
Em đi.
Miserable
Căn nhà nhỏ
cuối ngõ
nghe rõ tiếng mưa rơi
Tôi ngồi trong bóng tối
nhìn bản thể khác của mình
khóc trong gương.
inception
Bathed in the river of dreams.
The harmony of false awakening loops.
Uncanny.
Where’s my reality?
3 AM
Entire darkness.
Complete quietness.
I vow to never forget this scene.
The silent moonbeam shines through the window,
leaving shadows on my bed.
The petite disco ball
Originally was a sun catcher
Now have a felicity to bath in moonlight
Reflecting stars that dance around my room.
On the window-sill, new-grown mint leaves shudder with cold.
The silence is not silent at all.
Just like black absorbs all colors,
silence inhales all sounds.
In the light breeze, the grass quivers
and the lemon tree trembles.
Somewhere not too far away,
the rustling sound on the highway never stops.
The clock goes tick-tock tick-tock.
Light flickers from my cigarette, crackling.
And all of sudden, it rains.
The drops rustle on the soil
pitter-pat on the wooden roof.
The cold wind blows in the smell of moist soil.
It caresses my skin and wraps around my bare body.
As sudden as the rain, my wounds heal
and my tears dry up.
Darkness and silence appear in my mind,
like an astronaut that floats among the stars.
She looks down to her beloved Mother Earth,
and blends herself into the Universe.
a spark or a star
Inspiration comes to you as if it’s a spark that blinks once, only to perishes if you hesitate.
But my dear, you can set the world on fire if you catch the chance like Harry Potter catches his quidditch.
a spark for you
Do you remember the time when we used to wish for so many things, and when we believed in magic?
We used to close our eyes so tight and speak out the wishes from the bottom of our heart.
We wished that we could grow up, travel, be able to earn money, be acknowledged by our parents and we wished for the first kiss, the first love. We wished we could drive a car, go out at night without mom complaining, we wished we can have uncountable friends and have our own cellphones and private bedroom, we wished we can be free, live alone, and have our own decisions.
You know what?
We have them all now, one way or another. All the wishes we wished came true, my darling.
But why don’t you trust in wishing anymore? Why don’t you believe in the magic in your life when it has always been there for you? Why you no longer speak what you are truly thinking, at the bottom of your heart?
Why would you stopped wishing?
I still do, hun.
I still close my eyes and wish upon the shooting stars, and on the fallen eyelash. I would blow a dandelion as hard as I can so the seeds of hope would fly to the sky. I still break the wishbones. I still wish to the God or whoever out there that has the power, for your happiness, and my own.
So don’t stop wishing, for you and me.
And more important than believing in magic, trust yourself, a little by little, take that baby steps day by day.
Hence one day, you can finally wholeheartedly count on yourself.
"When a star is born
They possess a gift or two
One of them is this
They have the power to make a wish come true
When you wish upon a star
Makes no difference who you are
Anything your heart desires will come to you"
The bond between them has been severed.
Soon, the ties of memory will fade, as his very existence slips out of her mind.
His name, his age, the shape of his face, the sound of his voice.
Did he really exist, or was he just a dream?
And soon even that dream will fade.
Oblivion
Ah, now you make your excuses, after the deed has been done.
Words, spoken and written, are the sounds and shapes that fill our souls.
Once they reach someone else, they can no longer be taken back.
Even those words you speak in jest may, because of the very lack of thought behind them, become dread and curses.
After all, who knows who else, or what else might be listening?
dread and curses
Loneliness is good.
Sadness is beyond amazing.
Why?
Let's face the brutal truth, happiness does not give you inspiration to write and to create as much as desperation.
The greatest songs, plays and poems were written out of depression, not many of them were from happiness and satisfaction.
So yea, be glad when you're feeling blue.
Be inspired. Create things. Make yourself busy. Take advantage of what damages you, my dear.
Hãy cứ cô đơn thôi. Hãy tận hưởng khi bản thân chìm trong những mộng tưởng, những suy tư, buồn khổ và đau thương. Hãy để mình lạc lối trong đêm để thấy được những vì sao le lói trên bầu trời, và để được trăng dẫn lối đi con đường của riêng mình. Hãy đừng cần ai cả.
random thought no.10
Do you know why past tense of “hurt” is also “hurt?”
-
Once you hurt someone, it’s forever hurtful.
The wound would become a scar and it’ll always be there.