You opened YQ just to find out that you still can’t write.

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I don’t like the thought of waiting a lifetime for you. But more taken by the thought of remembering you all the way.

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How pleasing life is when you pick less from it. But how ugly it gets once you pick more of what you love and start saving it at the same time.
Perhaps living is in our hands but life’s in our pockets.

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How fragile is a heart when it sings.
Its voice resembles the feathers of a dandelion
who longed to hug the wind.

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A poem read in thousand tones.

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You taste like hope. That’s why I save you for later.

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Collaborating with Baba after several months of staying in cold.

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Reading someone’s work that matches how I wanted to write.

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At times, I feel like a fence.
While protecting my insides, the world around me dries.

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And you did post new quotes. The bell I hit on once upon a time, notified me. It reminded me of the days when I knew how to cherish the sound of footsteps, even if it’s walking away. Perhaps, you started living and leaving like the man who keep his words like swords. I, no longer live in that battlefield anymore. I listen to my own walk.

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