I keep searching for you in every soul that I meet.

My first love;

You are the bane of my existence



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Where it all Began

Major Throwback to one of the first poems I wrote in 2014. Little old me writing about love and heart-break. 🙂

The Nameless

I loved, lost and learned.

Walked through fire,

And got burnt.

Tested the waters

And got caught in the waves.

I sought for myself

And a stranger I became.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing;

That’s what you were.

Your looks were deceiving,

Your games weren’t fair.

You looked for perfection,

But SHE wasn’t there,

This love was confusing,

A pain I couldn’t bare.

Like a wizards victim,

I was under your spell.

I followed your words,

And deep down I fell.

So many secrets,

That I can never tell.

I brought you my heart,

And you put me through hell.

You were my first,

Thought you’d be my last.

But let’s not wonder,

That’s all in the past.

Though I am free,

I’m still falling fast.

This love was small,

But its effects were vast.


Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue..

How do I love Thee (Sonnet 43)

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.


It has become a cycle. She would find the strength to hold on, and grasp on any speck of hope but the heart by nature is an impatient child and love itself a fickle dove, and grows weary with the lack of success. She then decides that the best solution would be letting it all go, but doing so would be like walking across a bed of hot stones. She would bravely take the first step and recoil almost immediately, only to realize that holding on was much easier than letting go. Nothing has felt more right to her than fighting for him. If moving on is what she must do then why does it feel like a mistake? Why should she willingly submerge herself into the murky waters of emptiness? She has heard tales of great warriors who have followed their hearts and attained bliss and she is listening; to every beat, every whisper and every sting and it has led her to one place and one person. Was she expected to walk away from that? The homesickness is almost nauseating, constantly weighing her down. She has known happiness, and she has known greatness. She has tasted freedom and bathed in its delight. She has seen her future and turning away from that would only break her.

Excepts from a book I’ll never write

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Walk Away

He was right. Leaving him had not affected her as much as she had expected it to. She recalled their last encounter, how he had exclaimed with great indignation, that she had become so used to walking in and out of people’s lives and that this would most likely not rock her boat. To be honest, at first she had been profoundly distressed by the lash back, but after giving it some thought, she had come to the realization that he had indeed been right. It has become a habit of hers to set the stage for a grand performance, get the crowd reeled in and excited for what is to come and to walk out when the show got started, leaving nothing but chaos in her wake. It had never been her intention to do so; having been so used to the process it had now become somewhat of her second nature. It was her method of retaining control and saving herself; A defense mechanism of the sort. She could not ease the panic that settled in when she felt that someone was getting too close, that someone was bordering the fringes of her true personality. It didn’t suit her; companionship that is. At least that is what she told herself. Walking away was the best solution. Why fight a losing battle? For indeed she was fighting a battle against herself. She could not bring herself to push past the anxieties and the fears. It was best she walked away.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write



Something has changed.
The weight is there but
it is lighter than it use to be.
The pain, once splitting, is now simply a dull ache;
Still, an ever existing reminder of what use to be.
And I no longer find myself gasping for air on these long, unforgiving nights when I am plagued with our memories.
I breath so much easier now.
But I don’t think it is because I love you less
Or that I have finally let go
No, it isn’t that.
It is because I have learnt to
Endure it.