A Beautiful Story About Love

Love is hard at times and not always as easy to put into words. I loved this piece about how difficult it can be to know your feelings and to figure out how to act on them. Especially being in a situation like this guy. There are so many people out there who struggles with this exact same problem.
Because love is always hard at times even though no love is alike.

Feeling That Song

Music has always been somewhat of an addiction for me. Depending on how I feel I need to have music and lurics I can relate to around to really be able to be in touch with what I feel. It’s that and writing. If I lost either one I have no clue as to how I would be able to go on.

And here are some of the songs that I can’t get enough of at his time of my life.

Poem of the Day – 29.08.2013

The Life That I Have


The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours

The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.

A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause
For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours and yours.


– Leo Marks

Poem of the Day – 28.08.2013

Carpe Diem


O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O stay and hear! your true-love’s coming
That can sing both high and low;
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journey’s end in lovers’ meeting–
Every wise man’s son doth know.

What is love? ’tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What’s to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty,–
Then come kiss me, Sweet and twenty,
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.


– William Shakespeare

Poem of the Day – 27.08.2013

Her Reply

IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy Love.

But Time drives flocks from field to fold;
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward Winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither–soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,–
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy Love.

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy Love.


– Sir Walter Raleigh

Searching Yet Again

The morning no longer seems as welcoming
The air feels different somehow
A new beginning after the ending
Has left me with a new vow.

Now I once again must search for you
The one it’s crucial that I find
Searching for what is true
To find a little more peace of mind

Challenge of finding out where to look
Trying not to get lost once more
Filling out the blank pages of the book
With a story never written before

The adventure frightening and new
Searching for what will set me free
At that moment when I no longer have you
I’m searching yet again for me

©Christina de Vries – Geek Heaven


Letting Go

As they lay there with only a wall and a closed door between them, the space between them had grown too big to cross. A crack in the lifetime that could no longer be repaired. And none of their lives will ever be the same.

First comes the hurt. The uncertainty in not knowing where to go or what memories to make now that all the ones they had planned can no longer be.
As tears are shed, the questions comes on rolling. The time when they question their decision. When seeing the problems clearly becomes hard and all the smiles and kisses are what remains brightest in mind.
The moment when they’re afraid of missing it all too much when it’s gone.

Then comes the anger. Fear has wrapped itself in its clothing. Hiding behind it not daring too show the vulnerability of its true self. Sometimes the anger is welcomed with open arms as it arrives because letting go of someone that makes one angry feels easier than letting go of the ones that warms the heart and brings one smiles.

At some point comes acceptance. That time when rational thought comes home from its unexpected vacation. After unpacking the past, the present and the future it calms down the anger and dries away the tears. Only at that time can they really understand it. They can sit back (still somewhat hurting) and be able to say “I made the right choice.” Only then can they truly believe that if it was ment to be it would have already been.

The acceptance and the rational thought will then bring them back to life. With help from true friends and/or family little by little the smiles will grow larger, the heart will ache less, the tears comes less often and finally they will hear the knock on the door.
As they open they will see an old friend with the name of opportunity. Opportunity will hug them, inspire them and that long lost friendship is as good as new.
Opportunity will convince them to take new risks and go on new adventures. Some will fail, but they will learn and grow from them all.

And then, when they might least expect it happiness us once again a part of their lives. Standing at their side as if it had never left. And when that time has come they can finally appreciate the hard times, the hurt, the sadness and the anger of letting go.
Because if they hadn’t they would have never become that person. That person that smiles on a rainy day again with happiness by their side and memories turned into lessons that they will never forget.

©Christina de Vries

Poem of the Day – 26.08.2013

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


– Dylan Thomas

Poem of the Day – 24.08.2013

The Saddest Poem


I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.”

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don’t have her. To feel that I’ve lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else’s. She will be someone else’s. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.


– Pablo Neruda

Poem of the Day – 23.08.2013



Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.


-William Ernest Henley