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In Hindsight
I long
For a pair of eyes
To gaze my way when mine is closed
A whisper, my way,
With the intent to embrace
As my lips withhold
Secrets
A breath for a breath
Brushing tips of noses
A hand reaching out
As my heart recoils
Fire dancing within
As the night we first met
Against the wall of the living room
Where it handed me
A single rose
Then
Instead of waiting for a response
The voice would startle
“This, you won’t regret.”
Rant post — I’m just super emotional today and not sure who to turn to
This is not twitter, but I don’t have an account and I’m having a bad anxiety right now.
For the past many weeks, I’ve been finding it extremely difficult to fall asleep at night — or day, for that matter. My heart would start beating really fast, which forces me to sit up and contemplate all my life choices.
It really sucks. I’m still super young. My body shouldn’t act like this.
I’m so, so stressed. The only thing that provides me with a sense of freedom at all is writing. However, lately, I’ve also been feeling that my work is deteriorating, feels insincere, and ultimately unsophisticated, which I don’t know why I care so much since it’s all about emotions and self-expression, or at least that’s what it should be.
I care too much about what other people think. Even now, I am aware that the way I phrase this post may not sound intelligent enough to be listened to or appreciated. It’s getting a little difficult to be rejected so often.
:(
Winter Love Song
I trip and fall
The way winter emerges amidst the sienna leaves
Sweeping them off the ground by the sign of first snow
And that’s how I know
Luminosity sits still within your gaze
As horizon dims the adolescent sun
Park bench, locked scarfs, eyes, and arms
And that’s when I know
A fragile circle born from your breathy whispers
Collision of cold, heated mists, and fairy lights
Holding on tight may be my hands
And that’s what I know
As so my heartbeat, time is frozen
Then, before I could grasp onto yours
Empty bouquets from nameless strangers start arriving at the door once again
And that’s all I know
Lost in translation
Unconceivable is your touch
Tracing the lines of flowing stream
The thread remains uncrossed
So misremembrance is but a dream
In bed, gently, you whisper
Sunrise is near the window
You later ask me through the door
Why I’m treading in the shallow
To what you said earlier, I reply
With the language of the unspoken
Your form sure does make me sway
If an eye for an eye was what was insisted
Then reaching you is implied either way