This is a fairy tale…
A love story between a strong boy tree in a forest and an honest and innocent girl tree.
The two trees stood next to each other at the edge of the forest, but no matter how much they loved each other, they couldn’t touch one another.
Sometimes, the wind would blow and their branches would touch, but the girl tree was still really sad.
We live in a world where writing ages like wine. Sometimes it takes years or even centuries to mature.
But if history has shown us one thing, it is the merit of writers who spoke the language of the people. Who have taken poetry out of the shadows and into the light.
Writers and poets who are ahead of their time.
They are the ones whose works will endure.
—Lang Leav, Writers and Poets—
“I sense colors in you. They’re strong and beautiful…and sad. I wondered what your colors were for a long time. They’re the colors of the sunset…the blazing shades of a sunset that burn just before the darkness sets in.”
—Fuyumi Soryo, MARS—
We’re traveling to Japan this week for our Writer’s Quote Wednesday. About a decade ago, I started reading manga, which is a type of Japanese graphic novel. One of the first manga series I ever picked up was titled MARS, and I devoured this love story between a shy art student and a rebellious motorcycle racer. Before I knew it, I was falling in love, having my heart broken, and crying tears—both of sadness and of joy—when I flipped the last page. I left a piece of my heart between the pages of this story and I think in return, MARS made a home in that missing piece.
I remember when your tiny hands,
Found their home in mine,
With your body resting lightly,
In between my arms,
The rush each night for more milk,
And the tricks to quieten your cries,
I remember it like yesterday,
The day- you became mine.
And the first time you said mama,
When your feet first hit the floor,
Your first tooth and first tooth gap,
My Jaan I remember it all,
When you said you hated purple,
And we fought at the toy store,
How you’d make up, saying I love you,
My Jaan I remember it all.
“I now know, you must endure things you cannot endure, be worn out by the things you cannot accept, that there are nights when your eyes are brimming with tears. And daresay I know… what you’ve dreamt of, and what you’ve lost.”
“I place my hand on your forehead. You, have lived diligently. Please place a hand on my forehead too. The moment one person leaves their fingerprints on another forehead and comforts him, all the frivolous things fall by the wayside, and the silence we never took advantage of while we were engulfed with desire will embrace us.”
“You’ve, worked hard, to live, to survive, you’ve worked hard to get this far. I pray that the happiest moments of your life are yet to come.”
—Jung Hee Jae, Perhaps, The Words I Wish To Hear Most—
If my love were an ocean,
there would be no more land.
If my love were a desert,
you would see only sand.
If my love were a star—
late at night, only light.
And if my love could grow wings,
I’d be soaring in flight.
—Jay Asher, 13 Reasons Why—
Writers take things that are deeply personal, things said to them in confidence, often during moments of great intimacy, and strip them down into words. Then they take those words, naked and vulnerable, and give them to the world. Yet in spite of this, writers struggle more than most when it comes to sentimental attachment. They only write about things they’ve felt deeply. That’s the thing about writers—on one hand everything is sacred to them, but, on the other, nothing really is.
—Lang Leav, Sad Girls—
In loving you
I found myself
I gave up some
Of the old me
To be parts of us
And now we
Are both free
—Gina (Singledust), Sweet Whispers #5—
This week, I’m taking you to Malaysia, the fiery vibrant home where I was born, and the current home of a dear friend here on WordPress. Gina, or as you may know her better from her blog Singledust, and I clicked from the very beginning. It was like our souls recognized each other from opposite sides of the country (as I currently live in NYC), and exclaimed “ah! My friend from a prior lifetime, it seems I’ve found you again!” Continue reading “[Writer’s Quote Wednesday] Sweet Whispers”
For a while
I had this idea
That I lived in a world
Where I was free
And for a while
There was no
What they thought of me
And for a while
I was exactly the self
That I wanted to be.
—Mermaids have wings, For a while—
I am not sure
if I still love you,
but when I write
my rhyme and rhythm
but your name.
—R. C. Gonzales, Rhyme and Rhythm—
This week, I’d like to shine a spotlight on Between My Bleeding Lines, a debut poetry collection by R. C. Gonzales, or as many of us WordPress-dwellers know her, Rosemarie of A Reading Writer.