0gre:

مآ أجمّل أنْ تصمتْ
فيْ ؤجهْ منْ ينتظرْ منِك الخِصَام 

وما أجمل أنْ تضحك
فيْ وجهْ منْ يُنتظرْ منك البكـاءْ

How beautiful is it to stay silent
When someone expects you to be enraged from them.
And how beautiful it is to laugh
When someone thinks you are going to shed tears.

(Source: desertwinds, via middecember)

To live is to wander about a field of wildflowers breathing in the pollen whilst daydreaming of sentiments regarding Iceland and the space between your lips and mine. My heart is the wind that blows through the open windows on the first warm day of spring, bringing along the scent of daisies under the windowpane. You whispered that you were fine, but under your eyelashes was the truth that my wind-strewn heart was not to be desired. I responded that it would not happen again and amidst the wind it was true. I have realized that the clack of the typewriter does not reincarnate as the metronome of my life, but as the metronome of our life. The wildflowers envelope me as I live and I ache for you to nest in them beside me.

You found the skeleton key to my thoughts. And it was me sighing to myself after a hello and a goodbye to an old friend. It was an “I feel nauseous,” I must go bury my nose in the roses with perfume and her radiant limb. My face is salty and without my skeleton key I am lost (find me, please?). Give me laughter and a soft touch on the back with butterfly kisses down my vertebrae. This is scattered and I am scattered (my writing is fluff only I can understand). The headache of queens has nested in the front of my head for the summer and I am unable to shake it away, to convince her that I do not want to be involved in the schemes of hurt. Resolving myself to stop holding so many emotions and to let go of my early years.