You keep Forgetting, Child.

Sometimes we forget… We all do. 
We forget how the sun keeps setting day after day, regardless. 
We forget how the wind keeps whispering in people’s ears, globally.
We simply forget about life past tomorrow, life past today…
When we find ourselves drunk by the present day.

We must remember that there is always a tomorrow, and that our actions, for better or worse, will eventually BE consequences. That our steps, our words, our actions, and even our thoughts are leading us towards something, and it is our decisions that make that Something great, or make it Hell.


It turns out that today we must choose our tomorrow.


The brand-new Beauty Blog

I believe sometimes you have to follow your passion, regardless of the degree you have and where you stand in life. I believe that, if you refuse to, it will burn so deeply into your soul you will never be truly happy. ~

(The first picture of the first makeup I will put up in my just-started beauty blog/beauty channel. Because life is too short to sit around watching others do something in which you can excel)

How an Illusion Can Shatter You

Illusions. We all have them. Whether it’s about how life should turn out to be, how a certain job you have should go, or even how your boyfriend/spouse should act/behave/make you feel. We are all at some point of our lives sucked into the delusion of perfection. Or the illusion of it.

Yesterday something strange happened to me. I have always been the daydreamer type, the one to re-play scenes in her head over and over again, taking them closer to perfection every single time. I guess you could say I’m someone with a big imagination… or maybe just someone with unrealistic expectations. Yesterday I realized I had been hurting someone (unconsciously obviously) the whole day, and hurting myself as well, due to one of my moronic illusions. In this case, it was more of a comparison than an illusion, I’ll explain why later on.

I recently got back with my boyfriend, and we are now in a long distance relationship. A FIRST for me, and a second for him. Still, a long distance Relationship. We have been back for around a week now. He has been trying to make up for the reason why I broke up with him back in December, and I have been allowing him to ‘make up’ or ‘make me forget’ about the reason why… While we were not back together, I was approached by someone, a writer to be more specific. I became his muse and friend, and even though nothing ever happened, that someone never hid his adoration for me. It was also a long distance thing, and even had he lived in my country, It would have never more than platonic. I had just gotten out of a committed relationship.

This someone filled me with a sense of je ne sais quois. It helped me deal with the insecurity you feel once you leave a relationship. He helped quiet the Am I attractive? Will I (ever) find someone else that looks at me the way he did?, and all those stupid, insecure questions that run through our female heads. Well, he helped me shush that stupid voice in my head that constantly fed my insecurities. He made me feel completely adored, not only beauty wise, but persona wise as well. He wrote beautiful things about me, and I watched in awe as people went crazy commenting on his blog, which made me feel even more appreciated, because they were honestly “cute”, I wasn’t just being blinded by the “Muse” effect. But he was just that, someone.

On the other side, my boyfriend was talking to me. In the end I obviously chose my boyfriend, and put an end to the “Muse” thing, even before we got back together. Nevertheless, I made the mistake of comparing one of the poems my boyfriend wrote me to one of the writings made by Him. Suddenly, I did not see it as good as it was. I was fooled by an illusion. I was being betrayed by something unreal. That whole day I was unconsciously comparing the Illusion to Reality. Sadly, I did not realize it until it was too late.

I was comparing my boyfriend to the illusion I had created, or the illusion that actually WAS this someone. This someone who made me his muse, who adored me with no limitations, this someone that made me feel I would never find another man who would adore me and appreciate me as much as he did. Or someone who was as ‘perfect’ as he was. And of course I wouldn’t, because that man I thought he was did not exist. He does not exist. Even he was/is an illusion. Outside that “You are my muse” paradise, I’m pretty sure that someone is not even close to the man I thought he was. I’m pretty sure he is flawed in Oh, so many ways. Ways I’ll never know, Flaws I’ll never see. I’m pretty sure he has made mistakes I’ll never hear of, and hurt countless amount of people throughout his lifetime. Maybe he’s hurting someone else right now as I type. He was just that, an illusion of the perfect man for his muse. An ILLUSION I was foolish enough to compare to my boyfriend. My boyfriend. My boyfriend… who, with all his imperfections and past life, is striving every day to become a better man, and I don’t mean just in our relationship, but in life in general. My boyfriend, who is someone who has showed me his flaws, told me about his mistakes, and has both hurt me and made me heal from the shallow scars he might have created. My boyfriend, who loves me like there’s no tomorrow, and whom I love. My boyfriend, who will never be the perfect man, because no one is ever perfect.

But he does not need to perfect, because perfection is also an illusion.

And I want real.


.Photo taken from marie-amourfou


Think of Him

Every now and then I think of him. Of his invisible self that makes me still wonder… still compelled. Every now and then I hear his voice, strong and passionate with the taste of my name. They dance in my ears as would a sweet melody, captivating every part of my body. Dancing in my ears as a sweet symphony; Making me drunk with  a cocktail of feelings.

Every now and then I still imagine him, and wonder about what would’ve been. About the countless smiles that we once shared, now lost somewhere in the yesterday. Now our days have lost their spark, and my eyes lean towards the dark, leaving all brightness they had behind.

Every now and then…

Every now and then I search for his face among the crowd, knowing that if I stared him in the eyes, I wouldn’t know he had been mine. Every now and then I miss him. When the sun is set to bed, and the wind has nothing left to say, and the palm trees decide to swing themselves in what’s left of it,
I think about his smile. I think about my smiles.
And save myself from the feelings…

And every now and then as I look into the eyes of someone else, I wish somehow that someone else was him. I would know that way, that for even a while we walked down the same path… At least.


. Art from Jack Vettriano

What I Never Say

When people ask me why I’d have to forgive you for I never say it’s for ruining my life. For turning me exactly into the person I never wanted to be. For ruining my perception of what a couple should be like, and of what the male figure’s role in a relationship or family is.

I never say that you changed me since I was around eleven or ten.
I never tell about all the hope I cried out, wishing you were.
I never tell them about all the times I had to wait… and wait, for you to never be there.
I never tell them how absent you still are and were.
I never tell them about all the times I have wished my life was different.
I never tell them about all the times I’ve wished I had never met you;
all the times I’ve foolishly thought my mom would be better off as a single Mom.
I never tell them about all the dreams never fulfilled, all the promises never kept,
all the birthday presents that are shining for their absence.
I never say you threw a big, wooden chair at me once, and that I felt a slight breeze as it flew next to me, almost hitting me.
I never tell them about how I used to lock myself in a room, all doors locked, and just cried inside as you pounded on the door, fearful of what would happen if you broke it open.
I never tell them about all those times you tried to hit me.
I never tell them I hate my nose, and that I want to get it done just because it reminds me of you. Because it’s a reminder that I am your daughter.
I never tell them about the only two pictures we have together, taken at my graduation day, even though we live under the same roof.
I never tell them about the college you didn’t want to pay, the money you never want to spend, or the luxuries you always get yourself.

I never tell them about all the choices you’ve made, and the lifestyle you live, and the secrets you keep, and the big amount of fucks you don’t give.

I never tell them about all that.
I never say there was a time I was afraid you’d rape me.

I never tell them about that time you hit her, and she made you regret it so badly you never again dared to even raise your hand.
I never tell them I was right in front of you, and witnessed as the fire came to her eyes.
I never tell them about all the nights you made her cry, alone in the darkness of her room.
I never tell them about your disrespect towards her, when she’s the only thing you have that has any true worth.
I never tell them about the time she hit depression, and thought it was better to commit suicide than to have another baby of yours.
I never tell them about all the calls she’s made and that you’ve never answered.
I never tell them about how she was a virgin when she married you, pure white innocence, and how you have difamated her in so many ways.
I never tell them she wanted to be a nun when she met you, and even afterwards, and how now she has lost all hope in true love.
I never tell them about all the dreams she never fulfilled, nor do I tell them about all the jobs you made her quit, confining her to her house and apartment.
I never tell them about that lively woman she lost, the makeup she stopped wearing, the clothes she stopped buying, the music she stopped dancing, the weight she started gaining, the dreams she stopped chasing, or the willingness she lost of even wishing something more.
I never tell them about how she lost her sharpness and now she’s always a bit paranoid.
I never tell them about the amount of women you’ve slept with, or teens you’ve slept with as well.

I never tell them about the friends of mine you once hit on.
I never tell them about how sorry I am for my little brother and sister, and how I wish they’d learn from this and somehow not grow up like me. Don’t we all know that’s kind of impossible?

I never tell them about how scarred I am. That I have humongous daddy issues and can’t -nor will I ever- really trust a man. I don’t tell them about the constant paranoia. I don’t tell them about my taste for older men, or that one of my exes was twice my age. I don’t tell them about all the frustration I’ve felt, and all the drugs and alcohol I’ve done just trying to daze off. I don’t tell them I’m not sure I even want to get married anymore.

I don’t tell them I’m always half-sad, and very lonely.

Instead, I just pause, look them in the eye and say, “For being shitty.”


It was weird. It seems my eyes were direct gates to my soul and You could read every part of me, on your side of the screen.
Your words soon became as crucial as the air I breathe. My smile made the skin around my eyes crease. It was that genuine, that real. 
And You soon charmed your way into my soul, into the part even I considered unknown. 
My soul was Yours… 
With every passing day and loving tone, With every verse ever written under my name, With every adoration and constant protection, With every fear,
with every kiss, With Every touch ever imagined.
With everything that makes up “You”
But You are a ghost. 
Pic stolen from:

Towards the Unknown

sexy lips

I take his hand, and he leads me unto the unknown.

Right past the colorful flowers and green pasture I have grown so used to.

Right past the swing that hangs from the oak tree.

Right through the monotony it becomes to live in a Country Club.

Rushing through it like a businessman who is late for an important meeting.

Rushing because life as I know it is too dull, too restrictive, too black or white.

But still… rushing.  And I hold on tight.


I have no idea where we are headed, but the pasture is not angelically green.

It is dark. The dark  that invites you to roll in it butt-naked,

to arch your back and let out a moan.

The sky is not azure. It is different shades of gray that makes everything beneath it look exotic.

The air is not as fresh. It is sultry. There’s something wicked about it.

Nevertheless, I hold his hand.

I trust his ways. I believe he knows better.


Picture taken from: Tanzdreamer