Toast, Milk and A Poem

You may, we may, see us as broken. 

But, I see the gold mend the crack in between, when tears fall off your cheek.

The broken pieces of your heart, glued with silver.

The heart they ripped off, patched with gold-strings. 

And these bullet holes they caused, band-aided with kryptonite.

The life might rub your face off, but you made you self shines.

But do not ever see your self as pieces.

Because you know what yourself turn into.

Because you know you are a whole. 

You just got to dig it deeper.

And burst that diamond light from underneath.

That is when you know what life made you into who you were 

and and who you are right now.

 I miss when things are, usual.

The rushed out morning to the bus stop. Two and three buses passed by and you are glad to wait. The silent crowds, just you and your music played only for you. Each of these ears could listen different sounds that they played. Soft rock, classic violin, blues, a retro guitar classic to the noisy mind thinking about their loved ones, or just crumbling borderline heads.

But they did not matter at all, cause no one heard the scream as the machine run to took us to the destination. 

The kind of morning. 

The kind of morning where you meet different faces everyday in a stertorous bus, to meet the same old faces. The faces that could bring the joy in your life, too happy your entire life will be reminded by them. Or, or maybe, the faces that remarked the worst scars sculpted deep into your heart.

But they did not matter at all, cause no one could ribbed each chests to see what marks left on their hearts.

The mornings that you never asked why, the mornings that when you know you know.

We could never know how good could lasts, but some scars could leave the whole damned to the history.

But now the same music sounds different, and the faces are all just the strangers behind the screen. 

And you can't help to not bury down yourself, 

to another bus ride of nostalgia.

 If someday your feet can't touch the ground

A decent calm feeling I have this Sunday is the most wonderful feeling in the whole word.

So I put a record on,

It is when I finally have a space of a mind where every cells are not so busy grinding their gears, a machine that is not burning up, and voices that are silenced. 

Sasha, 7 February 2021