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The more you trust your intuition, the more empowered you become, the stronger you become and ultimately the happier you will be – Giselle Bundchen

How do you not see the softness in her eyes, or the way he gazed at her lips; longing for their warmth on his just once more. How could she not understand the true weight of the silence between them or the admiration that is spread onto the affection that they let slip. How did he miss that smile of hers in which it held her secrets in between those voluminous lips. How did they not feel the fire beneath their fingertips as they touched one another; or the desire which burned hotly on their breaths. How could they stand amidst the perfect storm brewing around them and not ever drown in the crushing rain. How could they love each other so fiercely and intensely and yet never know nor grow beyond the pain.

Koi No Yokan is the sense one has upon meeting another person that they will fall in love. It differs from “love at first sight” as it does not imply that the feeling of love exists, only the knowledge that a future love is inevitable. Alike in destiny, Koi No Yokan provides the soul with a purpose; a reason for action and consequence. This feeling overcomes the soul and makes you so uncontrollably in-love with the idea of being in-love that you don’t even see yourself falling further into its grasp.

A love that will be to skinny to survive as it was never fleshed out fully to begin with, is a love that was doomed with a purpose. To love is nothing; to be loved is something. To love and be loved is everything. Begging this love to last longer then it’s made for is chaos, an explosive feeling to try and grab hold of; knowing that you’ll get hurt in the process. You’d beg for it to last just one more day, minute, hour; just once more to feel the way you did. But you don’t. Because it’s to hard to confess the way you feel as you fear rejection greater then any physical pain could bring you.

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” – Anton Chekhov

Shattered. Utterly and completely shattered. Like taking a hammer to a porcelain doll and striking it repeatedly. Thats how a broken heart feels, but a million times worse. Trying to pick up every piece again when its all over the floor, laying there as if it never was full of love and distant memories, fulfilling this life and moving onto the next best thing. Going crazy on my own now, as I’m used to your embrace when the hot tears leak from my eyes, instead they are now greeted with the cold hard pillow. Instead of the familiar stroke of your hand on my hair I’m now greeted with a matted mess because I refuse to get up and fix it. It hurts to do anything anymore.

Toxicity at its finest is believing whoever hurt you was only doing it to protect you or help you in some way. However, it most certainly isn’t the case. You lose yourself pretending to be someone this person created you to be and it can be hard to rediscover yourself after such destruction has been made. You are filled with torment and reassurance which is unassumingly in perfect melody with chaos and harm. Promising us tomorrow in our world of impractical ideas and thoughts. We are told tomorrow is around the corner, without ever being promised to live and see it for ourselves.

It seems tragic that we love without ever getting the promise of being loved or having any kind of reciprocation of our feelings. We trust without knowing who we are trusting, in a sense we dance with the devil, not even noticing his blood red skin underneath the charisma. How do we let ourselves get hurt without ever understanding what it actually is that seems to be causing us the most harm. Its daunting to trust and leave your heart on your sleeve or you too, might end up in a thousand scatters pieces on the cold tiled floor, just waiting for someone to fix you only to shatter you worse.

Art speaks where words are unable to explain – Threadless Artless Mathiole

Van Gogh was depressed for several years and believed that if he ate yellow paint he would somehow become a happier being; as yellow on the colour wheel is perceived to be a colour of joy, wellbeing and happiness. People however began to think Van Gogh was insane due to the lead in the paint being toxic to human beings if ingested. He believed if he consumed enough of it, he would become this embodiment of happiness and wellbeing. It’s a beautifully tragic and unfortunately toxic display of the effects of mental health. He had thought his only option was to ingest deadly paint in the colour of “happiness” to diminish his inner turmoil and depression.

It’s almost like chaos theory. Stating “If a butterfly flaps its wings at just the right time and place on one side of the world, it can cause the perfect hurricane on other side of the world”. This theory is formed on the concept of chain reactions, in which all life that exists on earth also survives through these chain reactions. It’s an endless loop of co-existence and time repeating itself; as every chain reaction is the previous reaction of another chain reaction. Van Gogh had his own chain reaction; lead paint would be equivalent to diminished depression, however due to its toxicity it was killing him.

Believing what he did, Van Gogh imagined a world without turmoil, torment and depression through the ingestion of yellow lead paint. The chain reactions that followed ended up being more harmful and toxic to himself than I think even he realised. It’s sad to believe one man felt so much anguish and harm that it was easier to potentially die than discuss with anyone. Although in saying that, therapy wasn’t much of an option, so he took matters into his own hands which resulted in harm and lead poisoning. Be cautious of what you choose to create happiness. It may just be your undoing.

Flip a page and watch the paper caress your fingertips.

He who loves with purity considers not the gift of the lover, but the love of a giver -Thomas a Kempis

White. White walls, white dress, white hair. Blinding perception and forcing us into a beautifully cruel, silent submission. We know these three elements await us in life. White walls; we are welcomed into this world . White dress; we marry the sacred loves of our lives, our soulmates. White hair; the bittersweet symbol of a full life ending in a dream like state where we become a fragile state of nothingness. It’s scary to know we live only to die, our accomplishments that once meant everything are now just an empty legacy left for those to mourn and remember. Do we embrace it, fear it or try and run away from our impending reality?

Soul bearing, beautifully dramatic thoughts fill my feeble mind whenever we converse. Our hearts float together in an act of pure lust and love. Daydreams end and knowing this was real fulfils my numbness for another day. We are one, an entanglement of fear and previous heartache, neither one of us wanting to be burned by the embers of the love we’ve so desperately placed together. However, it does not mean this love isn’t real, nor poetically traumatic. It in itself; is an act of purity and connection playing on the heart strings almost like the chord of a guitar; melodies and harmonies are erupting for their souls.

Being in this state of unconscious decisions is like breathing in smoke from a fire. My lungs will fill then deflate but will have damage. Although, such damage attracts me, it invigorates my being. I need to feel the suffocation of his love, I need his warmth and his hands to run over my hair and stroke my face gently with reassurance. Pathetic, to need approval through touch; weak almost, but relatable to more than one naked soul. We all need this for fulfilment yet none of us are ready to admit it. Keeping this hidden in our deepest thoughts and fantasies.

It doesn’t matter if it makes sense, interpret it the way your mind tells you too.

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

To be beautifully inconsistent is to fluctuate consistently, numbers on scales going up and down in a beautiful harmony to make up human mass and the humanity we posses. The measure of our decisions which then makes a conscious action to counteract what we choose to do with ourselves. Its an endless loop. Batting our helpless wings to create that perfect hurricane on the other side of the world. Or perhaps the other side of our metaphorical world. For me, my wings surround me like a cage I cannot seem to free myself of. I create a whirlpool of mixed emotions and feelings to the point of losing clarity in the overflowing river of truth and reality.

By never showing true vulnerability, I choose to keep myself locked away and avoiding the truth, my harsh reality. Letting people see who I truely am is more daunting then my impending fear of heights, or my irrational fear of the dark. I find it almost threnodic , an urban desolation. To feel empty in a room full of people. Its rather pessimistic but then again so am I. How are we meant to judge who won’t hurt us without giving them a weapon? Metaphorically speaking, our greatest weapon is the truths we withhold and keeping ourselves from vulnerability and exposure.

We are encouraged to grow and learn from our choices and mistakes. But what if you like the feeling of falling on your knees but refusing to get back up because the way the gravel caresses your skin is a better pain then knowing your choice was the wrong choice but you were blinded by something? Now your ignorance has you captive as you pretend like you didn’t know it was a mistake dressed up like a last resort “good decision”. Your stuck. Desperately grabbing up at the sky for a fresh breath to relive yourself from suffocation caused by your choices. When do you choose to come up for air? Before you blank out or before your choices grab your leg and pull you further into ignorance? Your Choice.