19.attending my 2nd year of college. half peruvian half indo-trinidadian. infj.
observant yet obscure.

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I’ve still come to this,
Writing when words fill my mind, is such a bliss.
To have my thoughts that cannot be verbally said,
Typed currently on my bed.
It’s the only way my thoughts can be organized,
Not so that they will be recognized.
If they do, they do,
If they do not, it’s not an issue.
I end up talking about why it’s necessary for me to write,
Then introduce some sort of insight;
On what I think, or how I feel,
Often times it may turn out into a whole ordeal.
A rant or an insight on my point of view,
I cannot write my best when I am forced to.
I have been told one time,
That it is hard to compose something that tends to rhyme.
A few people have also told me that my writing is good,
People have their opinions and that is understood.
Yet I haven’t a clue,
Is that true?

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Reaching new Hights
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Morgaine Faye - ‘Sleeping Dogs’
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la luna
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In time, the hurt began to fade and it was easier to just let it go. At least I thought it was. But in every boy I met in the next few years, I found myself looking for you, and when the feelings got too strong, I’d write you another letter. But I never sent them for fear of what I might find. By then, you’d gone on with your life and I didn’t want to think about you loving someone else. I wanted to remember us like we were that summer. I didn’t ever want to lose that.
by Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook (via
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