Blood-red Sunday

A day dedicated to love –
Sometimes I can’t tell if it’s for the abuse of love or its celebration.

The Love I know is blood-red and disfigured,
Lacking the sweetness of chocolates and the beauty of red roses.

The Love I know is naked and priceless,
It’s value hidden in virtue, not in the price-tags of fancy red dresses.

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Today

Days like this (today) are always strange to me;
And I can’t explain why, though I’ve tried,
Several times, to myself, unsatisfactorily…

Days like this have the tendency to make me sink deep into myself;
Cataloguing, Analyzing, Marking, Contemplating, Appreciating…
Alternating between speechlessness and an overwhelming deluge of things to say…

Yesterday feels like a dream, tomorrow seems like a wish;
Today, here and now, smells like promises and fulfillment;
Like layers of abstractions collapsed into a singularity – reality.

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