WAITING FOR LOVE By Love Whiteman

With a good heart,

Waiting for someone to love,

After the long wait,
Just to meet someone like you,
So long a wait,
You came my way.

With a good heart,
Patiently waiting to know you,
After the long wait,
To find a friend in you,
So long a wait,
Our friendship grew.

With a good heart,
I never stopped loving you
After the long wait,
Hoping you will feel the same,
So long a wait,
But it never came.

With a good heart,
I then realised,
My love was meant for someone,
Strong enough to handle its weight,
Without fear of being hurt,
I’ll love again.

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Dark light: Spectrum

I was white light, innocent and true. I was unidirectional and travelled parallel to ask the other rays.I loved my life. And then you came along. A three faced prism without identity or perceivable essence. No one saw the real you. All they saw was what you wanted them to see. Your intentions were as obscured as your actions.
You stepped in my path and derailed me, sending me every which way. Your presence awakened something in me. You revealed parts of me I never knew existed. I felt red burning passion and blue depression. I felt joy in the shade of yellow and the orange vitality of life.
I loved my life and thought it couldn’t get any better. Not that you’re here, I can’t imagine life without you.

Dark light

Let me tell you about my friend. He’s my oldest and most consistent friend. I admit our friendship isn’t conventional but to be honest, whose is? Every friendship has its strengths and weaknesses. But before you judge our relationship, let me tell you why I think he’s such a good friend.

He knows me. He knows who I am and where I live. He knows what I’m thinking at all times. When I’m happy and life finally seems tk make sense, he knows and that’s his cue. He comes in because he has a key and taints my euphoria with somberness.
When I feel loneliness, he comes to comfort me and we become lonely together

Sometimes, When I fail, he assures me that this isn’t the last time. It’s needless to cry now. So I pick myself up and save my tears for bigger grander failures. Other times, he cries with me and we mourn our loss together. After all what’s mine is his.

When I’m happy, he celebrated with me and relishes the experience. Only before he shuts it all down and reminds me that it’s a hostile world and being early all he time never helped anyone

And like every friendship, I don’t always listen to him. Sometimes, he brings his innocently pessimistic perspective to the table and I decline. I stick to with guts. He doesn’t like when I do that, but he’s my friend. He can’t stay mad forever.

I once had a friend who had no regard for my space. we didnt He along very well. the friendship didn’t last for too long either. he came in whenever and however. Regret and I were never meant to be friends. He on the other hand respects my space. When I go to my happy place, that place where all my worries cannot get to, he keeps away. Everyone needs a personal space. But like any good friend, he’s outside the door waiting for me when I get out.

I admit ours isn’t a model friendship. It probably isn’t the healthiest either. But I need him. Just like he needs me. You need him too. We all need a little dark light on our life. He is dark light and he is my friend.

C’est la vie

Who is your favorite person in the whole world? I typically were to pick just one person among all the people in the world and all the rest would disappear, who would it be? Now how would you feel of you found put that the person you picked didn’t pick you? Or leta not even go as narrow as one person. Let’s say three. If you were to pick just three people, who would they be? Now imagine that the person who is number one on your list didn’t even pick you. You’re not even in the top three. How would that make you feel?

It hurt. Really really bad. It hurt that you didn’t feel the same way about me. I thought we were something. I thought I meant something to you. You certainly meant something to me. You meant more to me than hald of the people I know combined. But I’m just an acquaintance to you? Someone you just know? That hurts. It hurts to know that. I always suspected I wasn’t much to you. But then I thought to myself “maybe he’s just hiding how he feels. I can’t mean that little to her”. Foolish me. Oh God it hurts. But i guess that’s how life is huh. You win some you lose some. C’est la vie. I’m going to have to remove you form my list though.

Perfect

I wish to be perfect
To wake up with the perfect hair perfectly seated on my perfect flawless face.
To have the perfect clothes waiting for me, perfectly matched with the perfect shoes.
To step out with my perfect friends and talk about how perfect we are.
To meet up with my perfect boyfriend and kiss his perfect lips
To walk the most perfect catwalk and talk in the most perfect voice
To say the perfect words are the perfect words at perfect moments
To always be with the perfect demeanor all day everyday. Always perky always jolly, never shaken, never backed into a corner. To be perfect.
To stare at my perfect smile in the mirror and kiss the perfect girl starting back at me.
To be perfect

I often wonder about old people

I often wonder about old people. The people have seen it all. Their elderly sunken eyes have witnessed all that life has to offer. They have felt the ecstasy of love and the consumption of hate. They’ve seen the pleasure of joy and the gloom of sorrow. They’ve wielded the power of money and endured the impotence of lack. They witnessed the brilliance of ingenuity and the pitiful nature of stupidity. They’ve seen it all, and no doubt gathered a shit load of experience in the process. They are probably the wisest people on earth.
Which begs the question: Why do old people act like old people?!. You know what I mean.
  • They use outdated accessories
  • They do things at an excruciating slow pace
  • They tell you stories you dont want to hear
  • They give you unsolicited advice
  • They assume they are never wrong
  • They never willingly embrace change.
  • They insist on doing things on their own even when it’s clear it’s the wrong way.
I’m not saying all old people are like this. But a good chunk of them are. I have the utmost regard for the elderly. I think they are wise and deserving of respect. That said, you can’t but wonder why someone so wise would do something so seemingly dumb.
Maybe they do it on purpose. Maybe Everytime she uses the old outdated purse, it’s because it easier to carry and has better room. Maybe everytime he insists he doesn’t want a computer is because he can live without one. Maybe to him, social media is just a waste of time. Maybe everytime she insists on things being done his way, it’s because she’s been down that road before and she knows how it ends. Maybe he knows you have a lesson to learn about the time he lost his shoe lace. And so he makes you listen. Maybe. Maybe they move slowly on purpose because of some deep profound reason I can’t possibly fathom. Or maybe they do it all because old age is boring and the “shoot me now” face we make is hilarious. Maybe they things slowly because it’s entertaining to watch us squirm and cave into doing everything for them. Who knows? Or there could be another perspective to the elder-youth relationship that we just can’t see from this side of the aging spectrum. I really can’t say. Well I guess we’ll find out in a couple of  decades when we become the old people.

The stranger (pt 2)

“What issue!” I say furiously.
“Ibhave no idea what you’re talking about. You just showed up here uninvited, going around touching everything and speaking cryptic words. What are you talking about? Why are you even here?
“Calm down. You called me. You don’t remember? Well let me refresh your memory. You realized you haven’t written anything in a while and that disturbed you because you think you might have some talent in that area. Which led you to thinking that you might be wasting your gift. And that’s why I’m here. So tell me. Ate you wasting your gift?
All that may be true but I’m pretty sure I didn’t invite this guy here.
“I don’t know. Do you think writing is my gift?
“If you don’t know, how should I know? All I know is one or two people like your stuff which means you’re not that bad”
“I guess. But it can’t possibly be my gift. Right”
“I don’t know about that. But don’t you think you should at least try to write a bit more?” He says as he rises and walks towards me.
“Maybe. But writing is such work”.
“I know. It’s tedious. It doesn’t have to be good though. A scribble here and there should quite the voices.
“It could. I said put down the guitar!” The nerve on this guy. Touching everything.
“Okay okay. It’s not even tuned. Anyway, I believe we are done here. I’m leaving”. He got up and headed towards me until he walked right through me and didn’t come out on the other side.

The stranger (Pt 1)

“So do you think its true?”
“I’m not sure. I think it is” I said to the dude standing in front of me. He looked just like me
“This is a nice vase. Looks durable. Where’d you get it?” He says as he picks up a vase the shelf in the corner.
“I can’t remember. I think it’s from when I fell down the stairs”. Who is this guy walking around my mind. And why is he touching my stuff?
“I think it’s true. It certainly makes sense. Plus it must be. The facts agree with it” putting down the vase and walking towards the center of the room
“I guess. Hey put that down!” I say to him as he picks up my favorite item in the whole room.
“Hey relax. I’m not going to break it. Besides, it’s not.like you can play”
He wasn’t lying. The guitar merely represented my love for music.
“Focus. You need to figure this out. Isn’t that why I’m here?”
“Figure what out?” I say to him as I rise quickly from my seat to stop him from picking up her picture. How did he find it?
“You know what. Whether or not you are wasting your gift” He hadn’t said gift before I picked up the picture. Good thing too. He might have seen whose it was.
“I already know who it is” He says as he turns towards my seat. Who is this guy anyway?
“Hey thats my seat”
“I don’t think you’re focused in the issue at hand here. And quite frankly, you’re wasting my time. We have better things to do”. He’s now comfortably seated in my arm chair. This dude has no boundaries.

 

 

I divided it because I think long posts are simply tedious to read. If you like it, continue here

It’s been too long!

Its been too long since I came here. I don’t o ow for sure why but I have a couple of guesses.
It may be because blogging is new to me and I don’t like committing to new things. Anything can happen you know? I could get busy. Or I could lose motivation to write. I like to ride things out and make sure they are here to stay
It could also be that my writing freaks me out. I can’t explain it. I just don’t like reading the things I wrote. Makes me feel wierd. maybe it’s because still can’t believe people like what I write. It’s still bizarre to me
I could also be because I’m lazy. I don’t like much work and sometimes I think sitting down to conjure an abstract concept and then inscribing said concept on paper is exhausting. I don’t know.
Don’t be surprised if all my given reasons seem unreasonable to you. I’m really not that normal. Everybody o know has pointed out one feature or another about me that makes me wierd. It’s all good. Anyway, I’m sorry if you’ve missed my words (which I doubt). I’ll try to sift through my problems and figure out why I’m not writing more. Should be fun. My latest post is about me trying to do just that. It’s longer than what I usually wrote though. Check it out. Or don’t. It’s all good 🙂

They were us

I read a story today, and it reminded me of you. It was about a man and a woman who feel in love with each other. I saw us in the movie. The woman was every bit as beautiful as you are. She had a brilliant mind and charming smile. Just like you. She was in love with the man and did not hesitate to let him know. Just like you. The story mirrored us perfectly. They were us.
The man was simple and sophisticated, a bit like me. He knew he did not deserve her but didnt did not let that stop him he gave his love to get anyway. Just like me.
They’d talk for hours on end and laugh at the silliest things. Just like us. They were us.
The story ended with them getting married and starting a beautiful family, working out their differences and they aged. They loved and stood by each other until the end, unlike us.
They were us, in everyway except for the way their story ended.