lostpoetessspace

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Once I reached your hand, the voices vanished into nothing. The world quieted as my body rested like a baby in a dream— full of you, and a happier me.

Was it always this warm? Is it really my duvet, or did you reach the child in me, build her a shelter where all her fears could finally fall asleep— settle and feel at home?

Drowned head to toe, Left breathless, but still filled with it. It’s like the feeling I have towards you, Slowly, gradually, consuming the cells, consuming the air.. Used to the pull, Didn't try to swim away, Until I forgot I was drowning. My mind floats high, My soul drifts weightless, Until suddenly— The water disappears. Was it ever here? It’s your hands, Reaching through the surface. Maybe I was never really drowning, Maybe it was always you I was submerged in, And yet my hands choose yours, As a way to survive this.

متعلّقة بعلم اللغة، كالعلاقة بين الفنان وموضوعه، دراسة من أجل احتضانها، من أجل احتضان صوتها، تاريخها، ازدواجيتها، هويتها، وجسدها، كالإتقان الجارح، كالاختراع الأخّاذ، باكتشاف هتافاتها المطمورة، لكي لا يُدفن أصلها من خلال أي استعمار، كيف توجد اللغة فينا إن لم نستوعبها من الطبيعة؟ من المحيطات والجبال والصحاري؟ ومن مهد الحضارة؟ كيف كان شكلها قبل أن ننطقها؟ متى كانت ولادتها الأولى؟ الزوال يصبح لغةً حين تتحدث الآلهة، حين ترسل بركاتها إلينا، حين تتجلى قدرتها السامية على تكوين الحياة، كأنها لحن أزليّ يذوب في الأحياء، وينمو في كل جزء من الصمت، هي نوع من السحر يفوق قدرة الكثيرين على احتمالها، كالهدير الذي يعرّي السموات، الذي يضم الابتهالات، الذي يحرك النبض فينا، والذي يستقبل كل مناجاة.

It's thoughtful how, as you grow older, each day reveals that to feel, to experience, is the true goal of life—the meaning of everything. To be alive is to feel down, loved, empty, happy...

It's all part of life, your life, your precious experience.

كأنما خُلق لأهواه،

وكم هو شهدٌ يسري في عروقي، لكنه يترك ندوبه

أدرك ذلك، أترقبك، وأسقط في الهاوية مجددًا

لكن ما نفع الهاوية؟

يقال إن الجحيم دوما يشير للأسفل،

غير أنني، بطريقة ما، أجعل منه جنة،ربما هو حبي؟

روحي، هذه الكتلة المتوهجة بالمشاعر،

لا تخسر جدالًا مع النيران، بل تتحد معها،

وتبقى لتدفئ قلبك

لكن، أليست السماء أسمى لحضنك؟

كيف لي أن أغرق عزيزي بنيران، حتى وإن أشعلها؟

وكيف أخف، أطفو، لاسكن تلك السماء مجددا

معك؟

احترت انا بين قلبي وبينك، والحيرة عذاب.

معرفش الصادق مين فيكم؟ ومين الكداب؟

قلبي بيقولي كلام،وانت بتقولي كلام، وعنيا شايفه كلام،والناس

الناس بيقولوا كلام..

I forgot to mention they’re also the funniest little creatures everrrr

Of all the things that remind me of love, cats are at the top of the list. Their eyes hold something different, something enchanting, like a silent understanding of the world around them. They love in their own way—warm, selfish, and a little bratty, like a child who thinks you belong to them. Sometimes, they act like your baby, sometimes like your boss. Every single one of them has a personality that makes me want to meet them all, build a whole cat family, and just exist among them.

Orange cats are pure chaos, but somehow the softest souls. White cats carry themselves like royalty, too elegant to bother with the rest of the world. Gray cats act all calm and collected, but they’re little troublemakers once you know them. Black cats hold a quiet kind of love, the kind that feels steady and safe. And tuxedo cats walk around like they own the place, like they just left a fancy dinner party and decided to grace us with their presence.

Every cat feels like a reflection of someone, a reminder of a certain kind of soul. And the best thing about them? When one chooses you, they’re yours forever. They love in a way that’s awkward yet endearing, poking at you when you’re sad, pulling away just to come right back. And the way they get jealous when you pet another cat? Nothing beats that.

There’s nothing quite like having a cat in your life, feeding them, talking to them, sharing a space where words aren’t needed. In a way, they remind me of my inner child—curious, stubborn, and full of love in ways that don’t always make sense. Maybe every cat carries a little piece of someone, a little piece of us. But all I know is, I love them, and I’ll never get tired of saying it.

Of all the things that remind me of love, cats are at the top of the list. Their eyes hold something different, something enchanting, like a silent understanding of the world around them. They love in their own way—warm, selfish, and a little bratty, like a child who thinks you belong to them. Sometimes, they act like your baby, sometimes like your boss. Every single one of them has a personality that makes me want to meet them all, build a whole cat family, and just exist among them.

Orange cats are pure chaos, but somehow the softest souls. White cats carry themselves like royalty, too elegant to bother with the rest of the world. Gray cats act all calm and collected, but they’re little troublemakers once you know them. Black cats hold a quiet kind of love, the kind that feels steady and safe. And tuxedo cats walk around like they own the place, like they just left a fancy dinner party and decided to grace us with their presence.

Every cat feels like a reflection of someone, a reminder of a certain kind of soul. And the best thing about them? When one chooses you, they’re yours forever. They love in a way that’s awkward yet endearing, poking at you when you’re sad, pulling away just to come right back. And the way they get jealous when you pet another cat? Nothing beats that.

There’s nothing quite like having a cat in your life, feeding them, talking to them, sharing a space where words aren’t needed. In a way, they remind me of my inner child—curious, stubborn, and full of love in ways that don’t always make sense. Maybe every cat carries a little piece of someone, a little piece of us. But all I know is, I love them, and I’ll never get tired of saying it.

level: impossible

Imagine being loved the way you love

أن أغرق بي لأجدني كلي أنت،

تفانٍ بمحياك، ابتسامة، نبرات،

كلي تفانٍ… يتدفق نحو الحياة، نحوك،

حيث لا حدّ بيننا، حيث أنظر إليك،

ويمتدّ الحب كما خُلق،

كما السلام، كما الأرض..

how do you live knowing pieces of you exist in a world where I don’t?

One day, maybe,

his eyes will look at me again—

but from another face.

A child running, laughing,

with pieces of him that aren't mine.

And I’ll be walking through it all—

touching everything we knew.

A flower,

the grass,

the lies written in the photos.

He’s everywhere,

just never with me.

But tell me—

how could you share a piece of yourself

with someone else?

I don’t want the children of another woman

to have the eyes of the man I won’t forget

One day, maybe,

his eyes will look at me again—

but from another face.

A child running, laughing,

with pieces of him that aren't mine.

And I’ll be walking through it all—

touching everything we knew.

A flower,

the grass,

the lies written in the photos.

He’s everywhere,

just never with me.

But tell me—

how could you share a piece of yourself

with someone else?

Everyone in your life will have a last day with you, and you don't even know when it'll be.

You reach a point where nothing means anything...

Your mind stops questioning,

but your heart still aches.

You have no energy to rebuild, and maybe you don’t want to..

Because sometimes, pain is the only thing left,and your stubborn soul refuses to let it go.

You're just here, aching,

hoping that, eventually, everything will make sense on its own.

عيناه تتلألآن كالنجوم، تُمسيانني أمنيةً، أمنيةً واحدة، وهي أن أكون سماءً تحتويهما...

تُعالج ندبات قلبي، هل أتوصل كيميائيًا إلى هذه الوصفة يومًا؟ أأحتفظ بدواء لكل مستحيل؟ تختفي، وأرى قلبي صالحًا مجددًا، جديدًا كأنني بعمر الثالثة – ربما ليس أكثر.تكبر تلك الطفلة بداخلي، وهي تحبك.

لا، لا تدرك ذلك حتى الآن، لكنها لن تجد مصطلحًا آخر أقوى لوصف تلك الرابطة بينكما. ستتمنى لو تظل حولك دهرًا، وستتذكر أن لا دهر يسعُ ما تود.

تنظر إلى السماء، وإلى عينيك... علامات استفهام، وتعجب، وإجابة واحدة: القمر!

ستمنحه قلبها، سيظل دهورًا، يضيء جنبًا إلى جنب مع عينيك، ولعينيك.

But maybe the fire means you're alive— deeply alive. That even when it hurts this much, it's proof of your ability to love, to feel, to be human in a way that's raw and real.

يبدو هينًا أن نغرق هنا، فما هي إلا سُنّة. كما أشعر به سخيفًا... أن نفقد ذاتنا لها. فكيف تكون غاية ضحكات طفولتنا أن تنقلب همًا؟ هينة وسخيفة، قاسية وحقيقية. أين مخرج تلك السُنّة؟ أي حائط أحاول ردمه؟ أُخلف أي من ذلك... حياة؟

Connection is the energy that is created between people when they feel seen, heard, and valued.

- Brené Brown

I'm either empty or completely in love with you.

I realize this love isn't a fleeting thought, but something that only grows stronger with each passing day. It's not just a feeling—it's a commitment, one that has no end in sight. No matter how much time passes, day by day, I fall for you anew.

Don't Cry—Two Versions, Two Souls..

I’ve been listening to these songs for two years now, and I still can’t move on!! Ever had a song completely wreck you? Well, Don’t Cry by Guns N’ Roses did it twice. Two versions, same name, same story—but they hit so differently. And I feel both. Every. Single. Time.

I first heard the Alternative Version, and the very first line hit me like a truck. "If we could see tomorrow, what are your plans?" It made me stop and think—if I could see my future, would I still be this lost? Would I still be stuck in my own head? Would I finally have answers? And when he says, "Knowing your love's decided, and all love is real," it messes me up. Is love really the main point of life? Is it what makes us want to live ?and feel safe & alive?

And the pain in this version—it’s not just about heartbreak. It’s about realizing something heartbreaking. "I thought I could live in your world as years all went by." That’s when it gets too real... The feeling of trying—really trying—to be part of someone's world, only to realize you never truly belonged there. And when he says,

"My heart won’t deny you. So many seem so lonely with no one left to cry to," I feel that. He’s letting go, but not for himself—for the other person. Because real love isn’t just about having someone, it’s about wanting them to be happy, even if it’s not with you and the fact ( WORST FACT EVERRR ) that YES! Some people have no one.....

Then there’s the Original Version. And this one? This one is different. Softer. Warmer. It’s love, even in goodbye. The first line? "Talk to me softly, there's something in your eyes." That’s the kind of love that sees you, that notices when you’re hurting without you even saying a word. He doesn’t want them to hold their pain alone. He just wants them to talk. To be heard. To be understood.

And the way he holds on—"Give me a kiss before you tell me goodbye." That one sentence carries everything. It’s like he knows they have to part, but he just wants one last moment before it’s over. It’s not bitter. It’s not angry. It’s just love. And the most heartbreaking part????

"There's a heaven above you, baby." Like, no matter how painful this is, there’s something bigger, something watching over us. Maybe love never really dies—it just shifts, moves, finds another way to exist through this heaven

And that’s why these songs will never leave me. It’s genius. Two songs, same story, yet completely different perspectives. One is holding on, the other is realizing. One is still soft, even when it’s over. The other is questioning everything, wondering if it was ever real.

I still listen and I still feel everything. This is what music is supposed to do. This is why it’s a masterpiece.

I'm full of love, full of you

I am a museum of love preserved for him

اريكا يونغ| الخوف من الموت

احلم بأني أحببتك وأننا عشنا من التعثرات سويا ما ثبت قدمينا ارضا جنبا إلى جنب ،

أحلم بعيناي مفتوحتان وما أن انتهى الحلم أغمضتهما لأستيقظ بأرض أخرى تميل قدماي عن سِواها وكأن ثقل مشاعري ليس بكافيا لاثبت فوقها،

ولمَ الثقل ؟ تراني حملت قلبينا معا في طريقي إلى هذا العالم ؟

لقد كنا دوما كالفراش خفة حتى ظن قلبي يقينا أنني واحدة ، اليوم أنا بشر يتعثر بطريق في ارض لم يرها قبلا ،

أم انه واقعنا الذي حُجب - بيديك - عن روحي؟

احتاج سحرا كقصتنا لأمضي به ، ولكنني أقلب الدفاتر والاوراق سنينا ولم يشبه حرفا واحدا منها لحظة منّا،

لم تنبهر عيناي بمشهد ما ان لم يكن عيناك ، ولازال عقلي حائرا كيف رآك حيا هنا إن كنت حلما لم يكتب له النزول للواقع يوما...

عاجز عقلي ومثله أنا..

Lying beneath the sky,

Cradled by the whispers of the wind,

Tracing the memory of your browns—soft, endless.

I breathe life in every shade of you,

And through loving you,

I learn the language of existence itself.

How can a color so simple feel so rare?

How does life itself surrender to a look?

How do your eyes carry all of this?

When did all the time I lived without them vanish into nothing?

It’s funny how some friends acting like a crazy ex is worse than having an actual ex