Things my mind makes up.

As I lay here dying, my soul slowly departs To fly free again over castles, ramparts, Over plain of lush green, unbound and free Into the unforeseen, way above the sea. As I lay here dying, my heart slowly fades Into oceans of love and of freedom, not graves Made of selfish desires that chew innocence, Cleansed now in fire, rid of my insolence, Into skies so blue, my eyes can’t behold To the mightiest heavens with stories untold. As I lay here dying, my mind now awake, Flies away to the mountains I’ve left in my wake, To the rivers that flow, eternal and swift, To the lights that glow, the stars in the rift. As I lay here dying, I saw a light Prepared for ending, for pain or delight, Prepared for questions I ache to know To be answered kindly, like the falling of snow. As I lay here dying, I saw a hand Who gently caressed me, and then, a command: To rise up from my dying, my aching, my sleep, And fight for the restless, the kind and th...

If the world was written in sand Then everything that was built by hand Would be washed away, with every wave: What we speak, how we often behave If the world was written on wood Then everything that is then could Drift away on an endless ocean Every thought, every emotion If the world was written on paper Then everything that was saved for later Could be lost in a blazing fire Like the sins we so harshly desire If the world was written on glass Then everything could easily pass Unnoticed, and, so easily shattered Like the tears that often are scattered If the world was written on ice Then everything that would suffice Would melt in an ocean of grief Filled with fear and with no relief If the world was written on stone Then everything that could have been blown Would remain, endlessly present Like our love, our kindness, our heaven If the world was written like this, Then everything would have been bliss. Yet, the world...

Why I love to work in a coffee shop? At the beginning, I thought of it as just a regular job, mundane, repetitive, boring.  Yet, soon enough, I found my reason to push through. And here is my answer: Because sometimes I see people, broken, sad and lonely silently shouting for help from anyone who is there to listen. And no one around them cares. And no one around them hears their scream, their pain. They all look away. Because when some people say hello, they ask for an end to all their loneliness and suffering, for all their endless screams to finally be heard and answered.  To finally have someone to cry onto. Because, I can answer back with my heart and look their way, notice their screams, their pain, their scars they thought were in vain. Because, I can say hello back, and give them hope that humanity is not dead and shines still. Why do I love to work in a coffee shop? Because I feel alive.