And when they confess saying 'I love you', would you mind if I confess saying 'I want to go see Auroras with you.' ❤️
Love and Rage
When roses are met with no praises, Butterflies with strings, Beauty with melancholy— Who grieves? The thunders you hear are nature’s wrath, Rains pour down as she holds her tears. Her anger comes with the roar of lightning— Nature grieves today, For the delicate heart is hurt. The happy tales she recited Lead to paths unknown. With no peak to this mountain, The wanderer pauses, Collects courage, and descends Empty-handed. The visions, dreams, and coincidences Were hoax, not signs. The wanderer returns to things That effortlessly align With her values and aspirations— To see what the future really holds. This time, No trust in delusional admirations. So even if there’s a homecoming, The wanderer is lost forever. Where is the shelter? Where is the home? For someone who finds home In people Remains unsheltered. Where does the wanderer go When love and rage together grow?

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