Mbalenhle

"This is the great private problem of man: death as the loss of self. But what is the self? It is the sum of everything we remember. Thus what terrifies us about death is not the loss of the future but loss of the past. Forgetting is a form of death ever present within life." Milan Kundera

Yellow is my little world, with a bit of orange and brown...and white light... Writing….I start to miss it sometimes…and then I'm scared I won't be able to say it right…actually I miss many things. Too many…I miss my friends sometimes…those who're so far away and I can't reach for them and those who're right there in front of me, but don't see me cause they're in their own little worlds. We all have them, we all live there, hope and pray that nobody is going to tear them apart. Now and then we let someone visit these places, we let someone stay for a while, we invite even strangers, but hope they'll just pass. And t

She lays here, numb...on the bathroom floor, still in her pretty dress she wore last evening, when life was close to perfect, when she lived for a cause, drowning in a cocktail of contentedness with tiny, barely noticeable cherry's of doubt. With friends she adored and the scent of his parfume still caught on hopes she made with dreams she followed. Just a few more seconds to get eternity, compared to what already passed...But you don't realize until facts of truth hit your head, until a single sentence bends you, weakens knees, rips out hearts so that the blood, running trough you for a single purpose of being happy, of being fulfilled...sto