Fall is a season... A feeling of warmth as you pull your sweater over your shoulders Leaves of crimson scattered on the streets that crunch as you walk Laying on your cuddly sofa cradling a book A steaming cup of tea in hand that ends up burning your tongue off Universal time of of tumblr "postureo" The warm-up lap capitalism does to prepare for Christmas holidays Unforgivingly pesky chapped lips Mindlessly carrying your jacket all day since you're sweating midday but freezing in the am National cuffing season Yeah, because what started off as a description of a movie scene isn't actual reality.
Do people see right through me? Is that why they're scared to come closer, Frightened of me jumbling their feelings and unveiling all the secrets they couldn't keep? A self-defence mechanism designed by their hurt brains to stop them from re-visiting pain? And instead Wallowing in their empty, ephemeral friendships Not giving me the time of day, Not granting themselves the chance to be heard for once. "Your loss", I think. But the truth is, I love to listen, love to cure someone else's wounds In order not to feel alone in this psychedelic path called life.
Writing is therapeutic Like long strolls along the ocean Or a warm cup of tea between your hands Deep talks with a friend about life Scribbling a thousand characters effortlessly Leaving the imprint of your feelings on the page, The raw essence of your soul. Writing unveils All the emotions that you couldn't articulate into words at the time that you wanted Those which have stuck with you for enough time that you finally jot them down in hopes that they leave your system. Other times, you write them down to inmortalize tthem, to remember them and showcase them like the grandest exhibit in the globe.
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