Flutter

Butterfly wings fluttered past her, leaving a trail of rainbows for her to follow. Jumping, laughing, skipping toward the source, she was lead to a somehow familiar meadow, never have been there before. Light danced through trees, and assorted flowers with beautiful aromas were waving in the breeze. The grass had a strange tints to it: green with hues of orange, red, and yellow. She moved her foot, and out sprang millions of butterflies, with diamonds on their wings and strangely smelled of roses. She wandered, and found a bubbling stream with fish the size any fisherman would love to catch. They jumped and played with her, splashing water on her face and flipping in the air. She collapsed, and bathed in the warmth or the sun.

Found

Somehow, the colors were more alive, more vibrant. Seeing the world in black and white made her miss the array of colors she was seeing. Hints of marigold, hues of blue, and all of the colors of the spectrum danced in front of her eyes, somehow teasing her. The colors made her notice how much she really missed, how many months she had been dead. The black and white world she knew was still there, she could see shades of the old world, taunting her. But, she learned to live with them, intertwining with the others. She embraced her new world, and she walked into the abyss.

seriously,

if there are people up in the afterlife, what do they do?
can they watch people?

for if they do, do they see people everyday with their sins?
goodness.

the past is the past

but sometimes, you wish for it back.
you wish for the days when everything was carefree, and easy.
the easy times, the best times. the safe times, the homely times.

back, back to when problems never even existed,
when you thought that the world would end if you didn't get something you wanted.

then, you grow up.
you find out that life is hard, and it cuts and scratches you.
that people change, life changes, and nothing goes your way.

you grow to find that problems do exist,
and the world doesn't revolve around you.

you find that you have to solve everything yourself,
make yourself independent, make yourself grow up.

you find yourself not trusting anyone, not even yourself.

you find that you can't solve everything, you can't make everything better.
some problems you can put problems on, and some you have to pull it off.

you find yourself having to let people go, and letting others into your life.
you find you don't go sitting like a statue, yet don't get clingy.

you let the waters drift you off in the right direction, yet change your course if you have to.
you think you know everything, so you act cocky.
but you find out you were wrong.

when you're young, you think that there's nothing wrong in the world, that it's a new adventure.
but you age, and you harden. you find out new things. you grow up.

Anxious

It's like the going into kindergarten again: new people, anxious faces, and you felt like going to sleep because your mom woke you up so damn early.
But it's different because there are groups of people already huddling together, giggling like the little schoolgirls they are. And, because you're with people you don't like, you have to go and "mingle". Tripping over words, and babbling like an idiot, you make tentative friends.
And it starts over and over again, period to period.. though passing period isn't boring. Yup, you always could get lost. What, with the big school and all. There were so many people, it was confusing. And you end up running into class and get everyone to look at you. Yeah, way to make new friends!
As the day goes on, though, there are some reappearing faces. Pretty soon, those faces were hesitantly smiling at you, because they also want to know at least one person new from the first day of school.

At least the whole year isn't going to be that bad.

Pain

Everytime I hear the cries of the little ones, the ones that don't have voices yet, the ones that haven't found theirs yet, my heart breaks.

My heart breaks that they can't communicate, and tell us what's wrong. How their cry is so pitifull, so full of anguish.

It's sad, how they kick and scream and cry their hearts out, when all they're trying to tell us is that they are hungry.

And how some people can just ignore them, and let their children faint from the exhaustion of crying.

How am I to understand the cries of children?

words

i write, not for the pleasure in writing, not for the sake in writing,
but for the sake of myself. it's my safeguard.

for words have all the patience in the world, they do not judge, they do not criticize.
they listen, and listen well.

people, you worry. worry about what they think, what they'll do. and you always have to worry if you tell a person a secret. will they tell other people?

parchment always has tight lips, and never ending patience. it's a friend, though it doesn't talk back.

you can write all you want about other people: judge others and yourself, and divulge your deepest darkest secret into it, and you never have to worry about it blabbing everything to someone else.

and, when you write something down, it eases the pain and anger a bit, it gives you some sense of renewal. sometimes, it can give you closure.