crypticccosmos

[crypticccosmos]

Is it true what they say about muses?

Brown eyes of sunshine,

Silence of words,

Hair drenched in rain,

Destruction at arrival,

A poet's heart.

You kill me;

Burn me all over;

And I do the same.

Yet I end up thinking of you,

Writing and dreaming,

Choosing rhymes over sanity.

Is it true what they say about sanity?

It ceases to be when you love.

Pages wrinkle,

I sigh-

I'm in love.

And I can't stop writing about you.

- priyal//muse//

[crypticccosmos]

How often we do not admit

That we're falling apart,

Breaking down,

Struggling to keep up with our pride,

Hoping - after what seems like ages.

All because we think,

It is making us weak.

When truly, we are just beginning to love.

[crypticccosmos]

My obsession with death,

Was one that I had late discovered.

Probably because I never understood;

What peace was - against dying.

Had you not made me yours,

Had you not left me in the middle of nowhere,

Had I never once been so restless,

I would never have felt,

What peace was.

And had I never been at peace,

I would never have felt,

How death could;

Make you mine.

- priyal//only death could do us part//

[crypticccosmos]

Every word, every smile, every tear

that came out of you,

all the wreckage that followed thereafter,

tattooed it's way to my heart.

And I'm afraid,

even when it stops beating,

my corpse would still hold it forever.

[crypticccosmos]

I absolutely hate how science has figured out a way to define almost everything in the world. Like injecting in our minds the fact that, shaking of legs is an act of nervousness. Maybe it's not...maybe it's just an act. A mere sign of life, a feeling of being alive and breathing. Psychology says, that eye contacts symbolize truth, awareness and attention. As a living spirit, however, I believe them to be simple acts: of admiring someone. The colours, the warmth, the beauty of life that eyes behold. 

So, dear science, don't ruin the beauty of existence for me, with your complex theories and endless laws. Because poetry, words, people and the constant beating of my heart has taught me, that it's not meaningless to live in the moment and. Just. Breathe.

[crypticccosmos]

Ever since you've left, I've only known joy as something fictional. Something imagined by those who fear drowning in their own darkness.

Love, on the other hand, is real. Because i can feel it hurricane inside my whole being, dying to destruct and ready to kill me.

[crypticccosmos]

Do writers have an identity? 

Or are they just some atoms made of ache, tears of joy, peace of mind and unrest still?

[crypticccosmos]

"Your words feel like the warmth of your hug."

[crypticccosmos]

I was walking through the empty streets,

Hiding under the shade of my drenched jacket;

When my eyes met hers,

The girl with the green umbrella.

She looked so distant,

So lost in her own crumbling thoughts;

Sitting under the roof of that corner cafe,

With her green umbrella.

The world blurred out,

As my mind worked upon;

The unwavering beauty of,

The girl with the green umbrella.

My heart broke apart,

When she turned round to face him;

Smiled and warmed up,

To the guy who held her green umbrella.

- priyal//green umbrella//

[crypticccosmos]

Oh dear, I know you're scared to love

I know you love too hard

And I know it always,

Breaks you apart.

But what is rain without thunder,

What is winter without the cold.

What is time without memories,

What is life without getting old.

What even is love,

If you don't know how to hold;

Onto the ones you've loved,

Without ever being hurt.

-priyal//the beauty of vulnerability//

[crypticccosmos]

[crypticccosmos]

The literary urge to daydream about writing another book when working on the current one.

[crypticccosmos]

If vulnerability was an art, I'd be a masterpiece.

[crypticccosmos]

I know that sometimes, i love u too much to push you away, to not let go...to crawl back all the way to you. And i know, it hurts me more than it could ever hurt you. But that's the only love i know.

[crypticccosmos]

I bleed wounds that I do not even see.

Wounds that go deeper in time than my own memories.

I weep, cry, scream for help. No one seems to hear.

Their ignorance echoing too loud in the ears.

Let it go… Try to forget about it.

As though I haven't done that before and failed. Repeatedly. Almost daily.

So I stop. All the weeping, crying, screaming.

I stop and look down at my bloody wounds. Red and fresh anew.

Subtle pieces of art that have turned lovelier too.

They stare back, kicking in some bravery within me.

I'm happy. Free. Not in pain anymore.

When I finally take that step. Like floating down in the cold air.

- priyal//pieces of art//

[crypticccosmos]

I hate it when people say love is overrated and dumb, when all that love is, is truly misunderstood.

[crypticccosmos]

I had the urge to laugh when someone asked what i loved so much about her. As if there was just one simple, expressible thing that drove me mad.

Her adorable habit of book pressing every flower she recieved. How she couldn't care less about trying to impress other people. The way she drank her coffee only after it was cold enough to not burn her tongue. Her loud laughs but silent words. The way she said that brown eyes were regular and boring while hers just lit up at the sound of every adventure. Or possibly how she'd sit in the corner of the room, unattended and undisturbed. Like a mystery waiting to be solved.

But i said nothing of it. Ever. Shook my head a little, smiled and said, "Just...her. All of her."

- an excerpt from a book i wish i could write