a love in four-d

secretregrets.com:

"

I regret not being in your life after high school. "

"I regret that i can't tell you, mom how much i love you and how much you mean to me & i really want to be best friends with you."

"I regret living a lie for almost a year, even though I know I would be happier without you, I stick around for the kids sake and fear of the unknown. "

"I regret that I miss you, and smile when I get the chance to see you."

"i regret trying to be with you even after i knew you didn't want me anymore."

.. and if that isn't enough to say, there are too many of these posts, one after the other, all wishing for the same thing. Love. Care. Concern. Something to live for, something to find bliss in. When will we ever stop depending on others to carry us through? Are we really so incapable of being disconnected from this flawed, hurtful web of connections and feelings?

I ask so, not because I wish to reprimand anyone of their inability to distinguish independence from their concept of interdependence.

I ask so, because I suffer from the same disease, and all too much.

hello from a thousand miles away

the nonchalance of a fall to be,

subject to summer time exhilaration,

and that same old wrinkles etched

into the pages and pages of

a photograph yet to be forgotten.

a lazy bliss so still but

the sort of numbing, deafening

of a love to be, a love to not;

why the ivies cling, i'll never say

but the unrecognized pride that'll never die

i laugh, i laugh, i do.

rest in peace, memorandum,

and in all your pretty black & white

polaroids of vermilion sweet, i do.

le petit prince

i used to believe.

but now all i'm left with is a star. it tells me nothing. it shows me nothing. but it reminds me of everything. how can something so insignificant be so tremendously terrible but good?

"even the wisest men cherish a little nonsense now and then"

There's no combination of words

I could put on the back of a postcard

No song that I could sing

But I can try for your heart

Our dreams, and they are made out of real things

Like a, shoebox of photographs

With sepiatone loving

bemusement

sensical tunes.

the most of all, and their
nonsense lyrics.

imagine of being

perhaps, it wasn't so.
and a pick of the eyelash,
too safe
to be
written amongst the

sea breeze that called so.

on an ocean too far away,
and the waves
that stubbornly
deliver their only message..

esperanza.

every accentuated
stroke
of a flaw
of a coin toss

a cheated spontaneity
frosted, sweet, truth.

one second after the another

grew out of love, did i?

when the doors keep closing,
and the mind

is blank
to let no more colors seep through.
when words keep confusing,

and the heart

is p l a sti c
to pick a flower too shy of beauty.

retracing the same path on those

familiar, friendly lines.
suffocating warmth beyond all else.

when it suddenly grows old.
and tinkering,
tolling,
telling of a dusty bell i never knew to ring.

grew out of love, did i?

couldn’t say.

couldn't say.

things undone

that carousel ride you had
once promised, the ice
cream cones and their emulation
of the sun, that afternoon aired sun;
in all the wrong places, at the
complete minute hands of stolen
time, to wait an enternity for a chance
at that one brushstroke of bliss.
the caricatured hearts on the margins
of a mess untold and unfelt,
in sleepless starlit nights and the glow
of the lingering light so soft;
made to a perfect imperfection one can
never, distinguish, per se. that
wind which by all chances found
its dance among locks of charcoal --
in all the familiar places, and the parks
across the way, and the songs which
the birds' peals envied,
much too erratically, and
the unknown final strand of a web
which broke a moment too easily.

and the colors, those shades we never saw;
lost, to be discovered in a fickle while
ever so hurtfully lovely.

in a manner of speaking

at least now i know why.

and little tinker bell,
to ask peter pan how to catch a shadow.

sunrise, sunrise. looks like morning in your eyes

wintergreen lifesavers

i miss talking into the late night and not realizing what time it is. to be happily sleepy the next day, just to go through the same thing all over again. i miss my daddy taking my side in every argument i ever got into with my sister or my mom, except for that one time i refused to admit that the notebook was my sister's and not mine. i miss picking out the gray strands of his hair for 50 cents each. then losing it all back because i accidently picked a black strand. as silly as it is. as stupid as it is. im a broken faucet, you tell me.. i was never fixed to begin with, i don't think. faucets don't heal. and i dont know a plumper. so whats a drip drip dripping faucet to do? plain words. easy to understand. i dont think ive ever been so outright ..sensical. but mr wonka, he says even the wisest men are the most nonsensical of them all. i miss you. and you. and you. to live in a shell that's poked at everyday, but never visited.. it's no fun. all i want is nothing more than for you to hold me back when i try to run away. because i dont mean it. i dont. id rather not, but i do because i dont know what im doing. the love leaks over but no one bothers to scoop it back up. but i think im draining now. i suppose it's not normal to be a bottomless well. i shouldnt have tried to in the first place.
hello, goodbye.

i feel crushed

that i'll always be the singly stupid blame.
dear god,
i lost you a while ago, i think.
and i'm sorry i dont try to gain you back,
but you're not trying either.
i call it quits.
i think i'd rather be a quitter than a wistful wisher on a dream that'll never make it alive.

maybe?

hello.
i dont think this world is mine
i dont think anyone quite listens
i dont think the missing piece is very missed
i dont enjoy reading frankenstein.
i want a colorful threaded friendship bracelet
the kind you make at camps laughing over rocks at 2 am
why doesnt anyone ever pick up late at night?
to shrivel inside your own body is so exhausting
slowly slowly
forgotten and hidden
in an attic no one cares to visit.
la
la
lala
laaa.

i..

itsy bitsy spider

iSUPPORT
love in its every form, at its worst and at its best.

the phonograph and a little dream to be dreamt

birds singing in the sycamore tree.

what a funny name for a funny plant. craving answers i already have and too many cough drops. what happens when the leaves have fallen and the snow has melted? what happens when the sun loses its heat. what happens when the familiar bench is gone. things that represent something else will never be able to replace the object itself. so comes the feeling of loss. no taking it back. lalallaa.

sigh.

chilly saturday mornings

dear god,

i've unintentionally forgotten you.

i'm sorry.

please, please do come back.

boxes of tissues and a whole lot of nothing

dear mom,
my mom who looks prettier smiling, whose laughter is a treat that people receive only on rare occasions. dearest mom.

i don't mean to block you out. i've never wanted to. but you understand this heart of mine more than i do. that's the problem. i cry a lot over the times that i could've spent with you, just talking. i cry because i won't get them back. i cry because you have to suffer for my own lack of courage. but when will i be able to tell you about my first kiss, which was more than two years ago, or the way someone can make me feel? when will i be able to explain to you that age doesn't play a factor in love. or that it makes me sad to see you and dad apart. it breaks my heart. but it's this damned cycle that keeps going and can't find a way to stop. i made a mistake, you lost your trust for me. you can't believe me for my words, so i have to keep everything hidden. anything not said, won't be held against me.. so i just don't tell you. and so this continues, until the last part of me has been shattered and i can't look to anyone else. it's my doing, you're right. even unni says so. your actions are a direct consequence to mine.. but don't you see? that's not at all how i want it to be. i just want to be able to tell you the latest gossip at school or who i think is cute. i'd like to tell you that when i grow up, i want to be something more than an ordinary girl from an ordinary town, and change the world. i'd like to explain to you the feeling of nostalgia. and the way writing makes me happy. i want an argument over my curfew, not over why i don't love you.. because i do, mom. i really do. but i've got the heart of a scarecrow. there are so many things i wish i could tell you, but i don't, because my words are always so misinterpreted. what am i doing that's so wrong? why does it hurt me so. dear mom, i'm in love. i can't tell you how i know, but i'm sure of it. dear mom, i miss daddy. i wish he visited more often. i wish i could see him again. dear mom, i know how to differentiate between wants and needs.. and when it comes to my wants, i like to be reasonable about it. but i dont want a sweet sixteen. it's overrated. i'd rather have that money go to kids in the third world country who have never seen a pair of shoes in their lives. i'm not trying to be selfless, i just don't want to be selfish. dear mom, i like to fit in.. but not in the way that i must do every single thing that my friends do. i just honest-to-goodness don't accept the idea of cheerleading. but you ask me. over and over again, why. and each time i tell you the same thing: i just don't want to. you think there's a story behind my every word, something you're missing. but there's nothing about anything i say to you that i don't mean completely. dear mom.. i want to give you a hug. a good, long hug, and tell you i love you. dear mom, i wish you could read my tears not as an act of blame, but evidence of a suffering that's tugging at me ever so much. i wish you were happy. i wish..

throwing my mind out

못해준 약속이랑, 보고싶어도 못보고. 바로 옆에 있을떼도 무엇이 없는 그 느낌. 한번만 더, 믿어 보고 싶은데. 한번만. 한삶안에 한번은 너무 짧어. 기억하기도 초차 이제는 더이상 모르는 느낌, 다시 찾고싶어도, 내가 뭐를 찾고 있는지도 모르고있지. 바보처럼. 언제나 똑같이. 안놔줄꺼라고 한데는 언젠데... 말좀하지.

보고싶을때 찾아갈께. 기달려.

i'll send all my loving to you

everything's replaying, for the hundredth time now. hundreth? hundredth? whatever. first time i could care less about what i spell. too much in my head. hipocracy. and being true to myself. my forehead feels more than comfortably warm. where is God? i forgot Him for a while. maybe that's why. i'm sorry. i don't need this right now. i'd rather be a flower. trying to playing it cool. failing horribly. erase everything and feeling. and being. to roam the streets and go backpacking through europe. to find the same sticker in a different story. my words have gotten me nowhere. my actions have retraced the same old mistakes. and now i don't know where to head. and for the first time, i want to know. i'd really rather not leave everything up to spontaneuity. it's not just the allergies that make me cry. broken cinderella wheels and soggy tissues. just a few more years. until i can throw away everything because i choose to. just a few more years. i can keep up. i can, i can. and i will.

please go away.

lucy in the sky with diamonds

believe me when i tell you.

charcoal in a paper cup. fold over the edges, closing open minds and letting my eyes close. "nothing's going to change my world" and pictures on the wall of the girl you've never seen. across the universe

thoughts and delights and blindly grabbing for things halfway around the world. happiness is a warm gun? stop telling me it's not true. and these guitar strings tell all, so can't you be happy for me. can't you hear me. "it's not what you do, it's the way you do it."

hey jude, don't make it bad; take a sad song, and make it better.

"i thought it was the other side that dropped bombs."

sitting on the edge of a skyscraper, overlooking too many;

and we forget. we forget too easily. taking your broken wings and learning to fly all your life, blackbird. to watch, over and over again. to feel a striking difference. into the .. into it. whatever it is. this is what i long passion for. a kind of belonging i never understood. she's so heavy in my mind. welcome back's and good bye's.

did you give her the right address? i was so sure i saw her.

it's okay. nothing is labeled anything, ever. it's good to be back. keep moving. microphone feedback on the top of a building, only a direct message that a sentimental man would hear. i can't distinguishably tell you, but..

nothing you can do that can't be done;

nothing you can sing that can't be sung.

nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game.

breathe, free me.

and i'm walking in strawberry fields forever.

i've got a story to tell

and an audience the size of air.

to fall off buildings and feel the wind

i want to be.
SMALL!
and big and

too loud to care

and away away.

"it was so intimate, like we were already lovers"

dear God,

truth is, i don't know what i'm looking for. i ask You everyday for one thing or another, but i just end up forgetting whatever it is i have initially searched for. it disappears, pigment by pigment, until i can't recognize it anymore. so what do i do, when i'm done wishing. this faith, it's so hard to keep. but as i realize that there's nothing more that i could want, it seems to discourage me a little. as if i've lost my chance to prove that i can earn my way in life. a chance to see Your work with my own eyes. maybe we thrive on a sense of greed. like they're two different parts of it. i can't say why i feel this way, or try to tell You about it, either, because i frankly really don't know. all i can think is i'm in the middle of nowhere, with no specific place in mind to travel to. it's too muddled. i walk aimlessly. i'm just waiting for something to start me off again.