I never liked the heat

The feeling of suffocation that comes along with it

Yet, when your eyes meet mine

I can't help but feel the temperature rising

So obvious it is

The heat, annoying if anything

It doesn't reserve my secret

Instead it radiates from my face

At a certain level,

I have come to like the feeling

The rising temperature

Only ignited when with you

I can tell you see my reaction

With every rise

A smirk arises from you

Making the heat almost unbearable

Oh how I long for the feeling

Every time we meet

The unbearable, addicting heat.

Now, I support people looking for greatness

And those looking towards the stars

But to a certain degree,

Seeking to be just 'normal' is looked down

upon

It seems we have forgetten

Those that like routine

Who, from their rocky life, have deemed

'normal' a perfect one

Their aspirations are probably what we call

'conformity'

Or

'Not ambitious'

It seems that everyone now aspires for

greatness

But maybe,

those who want normal,

have achieved the greatest accomplishment

Or not,

Maybe I'm just conforming.

Music differs greatly, from style to emotion. As a musician, the intricacies in music are beautifully intimate. Playing for me is really soothing and connecting. Whenever I am playing -every movement, error, note, harmony- works toward a very unique part of our world. Music itself can have emotions that connect us all. It is kind of like an expression of emotions; it brings specific ones and explains others. Presently, people feel more of a connection to music than to those close to them. Just like an orchestra works together (putting every note together to form a wonderful story), so does music web us together. A nice way to put it is with the popular phrase "When words fail, music speaks." So every time I play, I do it to connect with other's unique stories, and convey what I really feel.

(A nice piano piece I would recommend is called Am Anfang by Musicalbasics on Spotify, if you're interested.)

Bittersweet is the thought

Of what I once admired

I sought a sense of acceptance

Only to not have a chance

But the constant question

Of where you have gone

The vibrant colors of the past are fading

And a hollow shell of memories remain

I have accepted to forget

But the itching wonder

Of what will be

Of the two future paths

That are sure to never cross again

There is really something special

With the first encounter

The butterflies

The young and innocent

Unknown as to what flaws are

The feeling of just meeting eyes

Oh the butterflies

The nerves of simply talking

The spark of happiness

With a simple thought

Constant butterflies

Wanting

Reaching

Changing

Fleeting

Idolized butterflies

The realization

Of the glorified imagination

The sinking feeling

Of the stupid butterflies

The snow covered forest

Seeing nature grow

And perish

Between the beauty

Her tragedy

Cold snow enveloping Her

The impression deep in white

A once lively person

Now robbed of her chance

Everyday taking opportunity

Only to be stolen by greed

Greed of a selfish man

Apathetic enough to ignore her begs

Her name not even in his memory

Yet her future gone

Her being now cold

Lost

And never to be found

Loved

But Gone.