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5:49 Thoughts

What if the magic has been lost? Curtains closed. Fireworks gone. The magicians has already revealed the tricks. Everything has been lost and the crowd goes in a blink of an eye.

What if the magic has been lost? That we start forgetting to see the wonders of busy streets and late night bus rides and the smell of hot afternoon sweat and the taste of our own gums bleeding?

I am afraid. To be honest.

That one day, we would just wake up like robots. We target to end the day with a sweep. We wake up just to look forward in sleeping again. We let time pass believing that there would always be a next time. We prefer to just rest that explore. We become too content of what we have achieved that we see everything else detached and we grow old thinking that we are okay until we reach our death beds and realize how we let life passed us by.

I am afraid for that day to come. When everything has become too late. When everything has become too old and senseless and the child inside of us started to become adults. Start to think like adults. That the world starts to become in binaries - black and white, win or lose, rich or poor, okay or not okay. And we lose the colors of every adventures.

I am afraid. To be honest.

To lose my voice and forget about the things I love. To be that person I warned my self about. To start waltzing with strings on my joints and catalogues with reference codes of who I should be. To build a home out of cages and sell my wings for a living. To be consumed by the idea that self worth is about how you become the best among the rest.

That one day, I would just stay in the confines of my own walls as I forget about the magic of skating through thin ice, dancing on broken glasses, kissing on busy streets with flickering lights, laughing so hard without caring about the noise of the world, craving for the adventures, and becoming true to myself.

I am afraid to lose the magic. That magic.

I often think it would be best not to attempt the solution of the problem of life. Living is hard enough without complicating the process by thinking about it. The wisest thing, perhaps, is to take for granted the “wearisome condition of humanity, born under one law, to another bound” and to leave the matter at that, without an attempt to reconcile the incompatibles.
—  Aldous Huxley, The Bookshop

I just
Want
A thing
Where Shiro sneezes into his elbow and it’s messy and he’s just so tired he kind of
Stays there looking so done with this, maybe sniffling a little but not like actually doing anything to fix the situation before someone else hands him a tissue and he cleans hinself. For a moment he’s just so overcome by exhaustion that he doesn’t even think of hiding it. Who ever gave him the tissue takes the opportunity to suggest that maybe he should go back to bed/take a nap/rest.

4

They might have told us that our kind of love is wrong but god, how can something that feels so right be ever wrong? That whenever we kiss, we forget about our clipped wings and broken halos as we enter the needle’s eyes with our lips closet into the holy grail. how can something like this be ever so wrong?

They told us that gravity pulls at 9.8 meters per second squared but they didn’t teach us that when someone decides to fall, time is sucked into a blackhole and from there, everything stops in a beat.

And when you kiss someone, they didn’t teach us that everything inside burns and the walls start to break and you become bare once again and calling firetrucks won’t help because you have to burn so hard to feel the heat and know if it is true.

And that when you plunge too long in the ocean, tendency is that you will lose air and drown. But whenever you fill your lungs with his scent, you drown harder and harder into his embrace until salvation becomes impossible. You find his body an ocean and a home.

I will always be your home.

They said that we are too young
to fly closer into the fire,
to dance from midnight to sunrise,
to dream beyond the clouds.

They called us crazy and wild
as we run like free winds
beating the drums across the fields.

They said that we are young.
And that we are wrong for not
comforming with what they know
is right.

They just don’t understand,
that times change, and we have learned
to write our names in blood
let loose of bit tongues,
and sway with close fists
slowly opening for high fives
up in the air as we scream

we survived another storm.
we will survive more.
we are the wild ones.

-Wild Ones; Zakk Habitan