Latest Posts by lostpoetessspace - Page 3
ذاكرتي تُحبك ، تسألني عنك طوال الوقت
تتداخل بكل تفاصيل يومي - صورةٌ لك ،
تتداخلُ بكل تفاصيل يومي فحتى دفء كوبي يذكرني بدفء يديك
يُرسَم محياك بين غيوم عقلي مُجبِرًا على نسيانها
أية غيوم إن كنت حاضرًا ؟
ذاكرتي تُحبك وأنا مللت
كيف أجيب سؤالها الدائم عن ذكريات جديدة لك ؟
ماذا إن عاندتني وظلت تحدثني عنّا إن أجبتها بأنك رحلت...
كيف الوذ فرارًا منها ومن عيناك ؟
Home is you—the place where I find myself, like a mirror to my soul and warmth to my heart. Home is all of you beside me.
it’s me vs. my mind everyday.
I’ve had thousands of conversations with you in my mind, loving the version of you that no longer exists. In these conversations, you’re still the person I once knew—warm, caring, and easy to talk to. We talk about things we never got the chance to say out loud, and somehow, everything feels right again. In this other world, we exist in a space where time doesn’t change us. It's a place where the version of you I love is still alive, untouched by the passing of time or the distance between us.
Your actions will speak louder than your promises
telling a girI she is a priority vs treating her like she is a priority are two completely different things
Nothing is eternal, yet I find myself longing for your eyes to hold mine in an endless gaze, as everything else fades away.
source
My mind is full of you.
Black Beach - Iceland, 2016
Sometimes, all you need is to trace back the warmth that once lived in your heart, before the cold ever crept in and left you with nothing.
“It was not the feeling of completeness I so needed, but the feeling of not being empty.”
— Jonathan Safran Foer; Everything Is Illuminated
They said I have to stop the world if I want to stop the feeling.
And here I am, standing at its edge—
The whole world has come to a halt, yet I remain like a river, refusing to flow anywhere but to you.
Needed
if it's good enough for you, then it deserves to be made. don't let anyone else decide if your story is worth it or not.
When I met you, it felt like my memories rewrote themselves. I can’t recall what life was like before you, and honestly, I don’t want to. It feels like you’ve always been here—a lovely boy who stole my memories and rearranged them to revolve around nothing but his eyes ,ever since.
There is so much stubborn hope in the human heart.
Albert Camus