Wrinkles

Every fold on her skin tells a story,

Every crevice and every scar tells a story of love and the sacrifice she made for that love.

A woman's love is deep, deeper than the ocean. She steps away from some of the things she want. She puts her family's need before her own.

When you look closer to her body which now looks a little shorter due to the weight of responsibility on her shoulders.

She is now at peace with the decisions she has made over the decades and continues to make.

She is now truly in better place with herself. Every new wrinkle that forms on her body leads to weariness but her eyes still hold that spark which never dims.

She welcomes new people into her life and cares for them.

Now that age has caught up with her and she is now a little slower than rest of the world.

She now forgets little things and slowly dims down. She loses a part of her strength everyday.

But let us never forget to go along with her side by side.. With the a little slower speed than the rest of the world.

Let us now spend some time with this wonder woman of our family.

Let us try to unravel those mysteries behind her every wrinkle.

Rough edges

I'm made of rough edges.

Made from torn pages and scribbled papers

Made from broken glass glued together

I'm made up of things.

I'm built on the stones thrown at me

My garden is watered by my tears and blood.

So the next time you say that I've had it easy.

Remember this human is built back from scratch.

Things weren't handed to me.

“Make no small plans for they have no power to stir the soul.” - Niccolo Machiavelli

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lovepokemonmaster

3 years ago

All the promises you made,

The lies you told,

the dreams you sold me,

I hope you are still somewhere in love with me.

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lovepokemonmaster

3 years ago

Peaceful mornings in Thailand

By @florisgone

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lovepokemonmaster

4 years ago

“A year has passed and you still think of her. But you no longer know if the “her” in your mind is the “her” in real life. Memories come in flashes. The way she laughed so hard one time, she fell off the bed. The time she cried at a Christmas advert on TV. You remember the first present she ever got you, a small music box from Venice. You remember her eyes wide, in anticipation, and then in relief: “I love it." You remember smoothing her wet hair from her face that time she came home in the rain; mascara smudged, running down both cheeks. You called her panda and she laughed. You remember her laugh. You remember the nervousness at meeting her family for the first time. Then, stepping into her childhood bedroom, and everything starting to make sense. You remember pointing to a box on top of her bookshelf. "What’s that?” you asked. “Memories,” she said. “It’s a box full of memories.” “Can I see?” you asked. “No,” she said, “they’re things from the past. And that’s where they belong.” Later, you realised that she meant they were memories of the people she had loved. She’d always amazed you with the way that she could so easily move on. “The past is the past,” she liked to say. Now, you are her past. And she is yours. The only difference is that you still think of her. And you cannot help but wonder if she ever thinks of you, or whether you are simply a part of the box at the top of her shelf.”

— Sue Zhao // Memory Box

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lovepokemonmaster

4 years ago

GODDAMMIT WHY CAN I NOT JUST FALL IN LOVE AND STUDY WITH YOU IN A SUNLIT CORNER OF THE CAMPUS LIBRARY WHY CAN I NOT BUY U COFFEE WHY CAN I NOT PEPPER UR FACE IN KISSES WHY CAN WE NOT GAZE AT THE STARS AND TELL THE MOON SHE’S PRETTY WHAT THE FUCK

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lovepokemonmaster

6 years ago