Running seems to be one’s way to escape from their calamitous purgatory. To escape from their destined destiny. One can walk or run but will their footsteps of dreaded agony be remembered amongst the living? We can run but how far can that take us?

The bashful trees whispered violently under one’s breath in the howls of the winds, never failing to show that they grew from the mediocre memorable mistakes of others. Of both the living and the dead. The shadows of the ones who once lived, devoured the night, burying the exuberance of the people alive. Each gravestone brings back the memories that one’s mind teems with. But the memories that want to be remembered lie buried away. Never to be mentioned again.

Flowers placed ever so delicately remind one how memorable they are and can be. But what's the point if the flower dies too? The dirt that one is buried with, is filled with footprints of generations from many moons ago. As the lachrymose clouds hang low, they invade the perished reality that the living are forced to see and indulge.

The ambience of the dead is rather peaceful but the feeling of despair still remains. The gates are closed but they break free after a long time, with no other tragedy destined to them. The world beneath us can be ineffably dangerous and damaging. It can be a place where one's nightmares are hidden in one's dreams, watching over like a predator out in the wild. Or where a dream becomes our most feared nightmare. A place where one's heavy secret is buried, hidden away from reality. Hoping that it would stay that way for centuries to come.

The cemetery, a place where you die once but continue living.

The cursed kindness

Though she may have been agonized herself,

She understands one better than herself,

She tries spreading her sympathy to those who have trauma tightly wrapped around their finger

Little does she know that her inner aura will someday wither away like the petals of a dry rose on a windy day.

She sees the good while others are forced to see the bad

Why doesn’t she see that her kindness is killing her?

Kindness made her into its puppet

She screams for help, but to those whom she valued, threw her aside

Kindness, the one that could caress your cheeks and the one that could drag you down into an abyss of dark worthlessness

As kindness chokes her, her self respect gasped for air.

I watched as the darkness devoured the night

Thinking about that one memory that could make one live

Or make one lose their sanity

I looked at the moon with such remorse in my eyes as he lit up my path

Remembering the first time I ever fell in love and will ever fall in love

Remembering my humiliated heart being throttled by a broken promise from the one I love

Remembering those memories, brought me into a conclusion:

I opened the door to my languished memories

I did this to myself.

It's my fault

It always has been.

“Kiss me under the moonlight”

His nostalgic voice being one of my biggest burden

I wish he had seen how much I cared

I fell into a crevasse of his lacerated love and in the end he was the only one who got out

He left me and his agonized love for me behind.

I learned from him, that it's ok to close those ignorant doors in life

It's ok to even lock them

It’s ok to never look back

It's ok.

I’m ok.

He is and always will be my ignorant door.

By: Mohana

The streets flooded with a plethora of colours which made it hard to see the abyss of darkness above every person ever to walk.The bashful clouds hesitated to speak up. As the raindrops fell gently onto one's umbrella, I realized how vulnerable one can be and how the rain isn't strong enough to drown one's thoughts.

The lampposts across the streets remind one, how ravishing and manipulative the darkness can be.

How darkness can make it his life’s mission to make us run. The lights that lit up one's path, reminded one how its better to light your way than to be cursed by darkness.

Heavy footsteps, making ripples in the nearby gloomy puddles that spread across, suggests the tendency and dependency in one. Every footstep leaves a trace. But will every step be remembered?

As the rain drummed its finger on one's umbrella and as the umbrella protected one, many eventually see over realism; it still isn't big enough to cover the forgery in one's true identity. In one's smile.

What is my true identity?

Here we go again, desperately searching for our answers on the cobbled stoned streets. Walking without a defined destiny...

By: Mohana

Under the moonlight in a night many moons ago, I remember when I looked deep into his disquiet but enchanting amber eyes, my heart left me without a trace of happiness. Remembering the first time I ever fell in love with him and how he left me in the crevasse of his lacerated love all alone. As I continued to walk on my languished memory lane, I watched as the darkness endeavoured the night, knowing the relationship we once had, isn't one of permanance. But why do I still love him?

By: Mohana

“I will kill myself soon. With all the calamitous memories of him dead and buried. His smile perished. The sound of his heart abandoning my love. There’s no purpose for me to live. Faith doesn’t bring memories. Faith kills another. Faith is not real.”

As I read that line over and over again. I felt a harboring grudge clinging on to me.

“Why did I let him go?”

The trees around me whispered. Hiding secrets that is one of permanence. Giving resentful looks. Children's laughter filled the sorrowful playground where I sat on the swing. All alone. Thinking about the book I just read. Memories.

“Are they even real?”

As I continued reading, the wind caressed my cheeks, reminding me that no matter what, memories will haunt you but will also make you feel loved. Before my thoughts could drown me further into the ocean of emptiness, someone sat on the swing next to me.

“Memories? Personally, I think they’ll ruin your inner aura. And don’t get me started on faith. Faith is just the broken door that many would want to open. But why?”

His voice reminded me of my comfort character casually walking in the rain, benevolently holding my hand. His familiar nostalgic voice lifted my chin up. I fell into an abyss of memories when our eyes met.

“Ezra?” I whispered with a single tear clinging on to me. We both stood up and Ezra took a step closer to me. I caught myself sinking deep into his enchanting dark amber eyes. He grabbed me into a protective hug. Stroking my hair, whispering into my ear. I felt so safe back in his compassionate arms.

“I thought you were dead!” I mumbled with my tears screaming with agony.

“I’d see you first before I die. You know that. All I have are tragic memories with you. Trauma had manipulated me into thinking memories are all miserable. I learned that they do destroy one, but they could make another live.”

The way he spoke passionately about what he had learned when I wasn't with him made regret umbrage over my happiness. He has been trying to make happy memories despite his past exposing him to dreadful ones. I then realized how much I missed his voice, his eyes, the smell of his favorite jacket. How much I missed him.

Though I despise those tragic memories that deserve to be forgotten, those memories will always have a place in my heart. Always.