Dear Anti Diary,

there’s not
a
moment
that holds
together
sculptures
of
broken
rules;
lost in
time
and
determination
every
second
binds
only
the web
that
traces
a road
where
one
is none.

I miss the ocean, I miss the sea. I miss the sun setting just above it, I miss the smell of the warm rainforest, I miss the river where I found my water; I miss the moss touching my feet and the night where all is human still. I miss all these things, because I miss. I miss the pieces that I have always missed; for is easy to feel the missing when you distract it with old constant loses, for in that missing, there is not much pain in going back and reliving their presence on your mind, their images soothing the lack.

as a tale, of old times sake, when the ordained death comes to take that which owes him a last breath, there is this image here and there of a white light showing some unknown way. Is it telling, I ask myself, that on those tales, the darkness falls weak to this uncertain shine? For there is wisdom in the dark, a space for seeing through our own eyes; whereas the bright, upheld in its greatness can forget, promising goodness as long as we are blinded by the light, that there is shadows to be lived, holes to be rendered and pain to be felt. Where is the hope in the land of hope, where is the future in the land of eternal, where is the past that makes us and how would the soul know what is sacred to what it is not? I rather hear the tellings of humans on our land, those who are keen to say it with both the lightness and the dark, having lived and died numerous times.

like
the
blanket
of my
child,
as
soothing
as a
morning
star;
from
the
sounds
of my
beating
heart,
I
listen
to the
shadows
of this
late
spring
night.

so 

much 

water

passes

through

here,

so much 

time

travels

with 

it;

the river

you see,

does not

know

this.

for a

river

can’t

be

still,

it is

not

nor will

ever be

nothing

without

the

same

water

that

has

ever been. 

There are no colors in this world,

no words we have come upon

that I can carve on stone

that will stay longer

than what I

own in my soul.

For if expression

rests upon

the showing of the scars,

then take this phrase

and read it out loud.

I have weathered storms,

and dreamt about big waves.

I have survived hardships known to man.

I have climbed deep mounts

and have risen from near death.

But nothing could prepare me,

not even in my books,

to this sudden awakening,

to this given life.

For being alive,

and all that it implies

has turned out

to be

the ultimate

passage

that

I cannot

longer deny.

I break

promises

I make

to

my-self.

for

one of me

tries

to forget

whilst the whole

of me

lives

that

still.

I

wage

a battle

with

no

point.

no

victory

there

is a win,

for

really

I have

already

lost.

it is
on
that space
before
each
heartbeat
that I find
the moment
where
the light
and the
darkness
collide
to show
me
the
entirety
of
love.

when it
dawns
here
inside,
and
the
light
draws
the sky,
I breathe
deeply
the
night sky
wishing
upon
the shadows
of my
own heart.

Last night, a fire burnt slowly the remains of a clear sky.