I could see lights. Lights everywhere. I walked pass by the prettiest lights in the world, looking for yours. I thought you could save me.
That fear I always have. Fear of change of heart. Stay strong. Strong. Strong. Strong.
Like the presence of you would always do, you left me alone again. When I thought “is this it? will it happen?”, you left me. Again and again. What do I do when I can’t help feeling the joy of when you’re around, too afraid of it I pushed you away. But in the end, does it really matter?
The imagination is mine and mine alone.
All night, a man called “Allah”
Until his lips were bleeding.
Then the Devil said, “Hey! Mr Gullible!
How comes you’ve been calling all night
And never once heard Allah say, “Here, I am”?
You call out so earnestly and, in reply, what?
I’ll tell you what. Nothing!”
The man suddenly felt empty and abandoned.
Depressed, he threw himself on the ground
And fell into a deep sleep.
In a dream, he met Abraham, who asked,
“Why are you regretting praising Allah?”
The man said, “ I called and called
But Allah never replied, “Here I am.”
Abraham explained, “Allah has said,
“Your calling my name is My reply.
Your longing for Me is My message to you.
All your attempts to reach Me
Are in reality My attempts to reach you.
Your fear and love are a noose to catch Me.
In the silence surrounding every call of “Allah”
Waits a thousand replies of “Here I am.”
Rumi (via bornbetweentwosigns)
Who is having it?
Why is she crushing it?
Can I have it?
Destroying me, destroying me you are.
Why can’t I post private entries when I use the tumblr app, tumblr?
"I’ve forgiven them."
"I’ve forgiven myself."
"I’ve moved on."
But you can still feel it. And you’re hating it so much for you don’t understand why does it stay.
Now, do you really mean what you tell yourself?
Si Bodoh Who Took My Heart and Crushed It Into Pieces.
A bilingual short love story by yours truly. Coming soon.
The only thing I hate about reading is I get so attached to the characters. And after I finish the book, that’s it. I will never learn anymore about them or their life or what they ate for breakfast. No matter how many times I reread the book, I will always only know the same amount. And it saddens me. Finishing a book means losing people close to you.