something about (beautiful light)
written by:
tim nubla
There is something about living that makes people crazy. They do what they don't do. Even if they know that chances are nil. There is something about some feelings that sticks to the emotions and gathers up enough axons for your muscles to move and there you are. Somewhere you didn't expect to be at. Somewhere you wanted to be in but somewhere...
There is something about loving that makes you want to cry, even die, yet it gives you hope and you want to move again. So much to do. For love. Yet sometimes we don't even know if it's love. We end up alone with nothing. Yet without regrets. That love and life sometimes does not go together well and sometimes they do. But love...
is something you do. Nowadays, saying it doesn't work anymore. Although at the right time, maybe, for speaking is a verb, still. But loving! is it an action?
In my world, you don't even feel what's inside anymore. You only hear your heart shouting and throbbing and loving and...
lets not go into the ending. Let us love.
----
Some beautiful light bathes the night with wonder as it includes me in its shower.
My lover doesn't know yet of my yonder yet he goes around and see me in the eyes --
glowing with the fire that lits where I'm writing, and see me as beautiful, and handsome yet not seeing what I try to ponder -- if it's not love, therefore I am no lover.
----
You see more beautiful people now than you ever did before yet you have grown not as beautiful anymore and you end up in one corner of the crowd, not mixing (because you can't anymore) and regreting maybe, but if you try to see what's inside their mind, they're just as alone as you are, only you've lived and they havn't, so you live.
tim nubla
There is something about living that makes people crazy. They do what they don't do. Even if they know that chances are nil. There is something about some feelings that sticks to the emotions and gathers up enough axons for your muscles to move and there you are. Somewhere you didn't expect to be at. Somewhere you wanted to be in but somewhere...
There is something about loving that makes you want to cry, even die, yet it gives you hope and you want to move again. So much to do. For love. Yet sometimes we don't even know if it's love. We end up alone with nothing. Yet without regrets. That love and life sometimes does not go together well and sometimes they do. But love...
is something you do. Nowadays, saying it doesn't work anymore. Although at the right time, maybe, for speaking is a verb, still. But loving! is it an action?
In my world, you don't even feel what's inside anymore. You only hear your heart shouting and throbbing and loving and...
lets not go into the ending. Let us love.
----
Some beautiful light bathes the night with wonder as it includes me in its shower.
My lover doesn't know yet of my yonder yet he goes around and see me in the eyes --
glowing with the fire that lits where I'm writing, and see me as beautiful, and handsome yet not seeing what I try to ponder -- if it's not love, therefore I am no lover.
----
You see more beautiful people now than you ever did before yet you have grown not as beautiful anymore and you end up in one corner of the crowd, not mixing (because you can't anymore) and regreting maybe, but if you try to see what's inside their mind, they're just as alone as you are, only you've lived and they havn't, so you live.
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