Alena's Euphoric Quill

Dear Friends, I will miss talking to you, I will miss hugging you, I will miss those long walks, Not Knowing where we'd end up, Just lost in time and each other's company, I will miss holding hands, I will miss the shoulders I curl up on, When the world gets too heavy, I know nothing lasts forever, But I wish this did, We fight, We cry but we end up-- Together, loved by each other. A year from now, this day,  we might be miles apart, But I hope that distance only exists on the map, Not in the spaces between our hearts. I know I’ll miss you. But sometimes I wonder, Will I ever find friends like you again? Even if I do, Your place in my heart will never be replaced. That I know for sure. I know that, I will miss you, Again, Again and Again.  To the people I love, forever. I love you the most! 

Let them enjoy it all, Envy can ruin you after all, Let us dance it away, In every possible way, Let us dance, when it is impossible, Also when it is possible, Cause after all, Joy is never too small. Let the music mend what’s torn, Even if the night feels worn, Let our feet forget the ache, And our hearts the paths they take. Let us twirl through heavy rain, Find rhythm even in pain, For life was made to be felt, Not just endured, but deeply dwelt. So dance when no one claps, Dance through triumphs and mishaps, For every step, fast or slow, Is a freedom we bestow.

I wish I had it all figured out, But I'm stuck in the middle of the road, Confused between left and right, Unable to choose between sweet and savour. I wish I had it all figured out, To know what to hold and what to let go, To understand myself a little more, What I truly love, and what I don’t. I wish I had it all figured out, So I could smile without a mask, And walk freely without the weight Of the scars I quietly hide. I wish I had it all figured out, So I could bring joy, not pain, To brighten someone’s cloudy day, Without the fear of hurting again. But the truth is, I don’t. I’m learning as I grow, Taking one uncertain step On a road I do not fully know. Maybe that’s what life is, Not always having a plan, But finding strength in not knowing, And still doing the best I can. So even if I stumble now, And carry doubts I cannot name, I’ll keep walking with hope in my heart, And love myself just the same.

A Crybaby is not always weak, She just feels the world a little louder, Maybe, a little deeper. She hugs with her whole soul, She breaks silently in corners unseen. They say, “Be strong,” as if softness is a sin, But strength wears many faces, Sometimes, it looks like trembling lips Still daring to speak kindness in return. She doesn’t cry for attention,  She cries because she pays attention. To pain, to beauty, to the things others miss, To voices unheard and wounds unkissed. She is not weak for feeling it all, She is powerful, Because she survives it all, And still believes in love. She sometimes bursts out, Out of pain, ending up hurt, But she rises up and learns, Learns from her mistakes. She knows that she is flawed, But she tries.  At the end of the day, She is just a sensitive human after all.

Every handwriting is a confession, A silent unveiling of self. Each one, in its own way, Truely is beautiful.  Not always to the world, but always to someone, To a loved one who knows the story, Between the lines and its flaws. Some scripts are gentle, Pleasing like a soft breeze across calm waters. Others are wild, Chaotic like crashing waves With ink that forgets to follow the rules. I began with neatness, With letters that stood like soldiers in a row. Over time, it crumbled, the lines faltered, the strokes wavered. My words lost their shape. But then, quietly, they found their rhythm again. I never truly had a handwriting, just strokes and sketches, drawings of words that barely knew themselves. Until one day, I traced the lines back to me. And in that steady form, I met my own reflection. Now, I hold it with pride. Imperfect, evolving, but unmistakably mine. It may not be flawless, But it is honest, It is me, My treasure, My fingerprint, My deepest identity. To you, maybe rand...

People say heart is fragile, Easy to crush and easier to rush, To the deepest ocean of lively tears And to the happiest islands of fairy treats, I love it all, I know it all, Says the very heart, It beats with hope and tropes, Maybe it's all an illusion, Maybe it's illiterate with reality, Because all it knows, the poor old heart: Is to sing and be free, To trust and not be rude, Reality strikes and tears rushes down. I call it crispy like the snack, Thin, easy and breakable, Crumbling bits of easy pieces, Just like a shattered glass More like, One broken heart. It is crumbled, crusty and left, After realising it is not full, But just a drop of an ocean.