You sit down on the sideway

your earphones plugged in

You think to yourself

why is the world so loud

Does silence mean 

that it is wrong

What is that

ringing

that sounds in your head

Bottle of whiskey

halfway down your throat

that burn

oh, so satisfying 

But it still goes on

your earphones still in

it is blaring

and you wonder if 

you will ever 

find just a little bit 

of silence

(the street was empty that day when you 

decided to slump down on that side

of the street

whiskey bottle beside you and the 

lights blinking off one by

one as it continued to ring 

in your ears, silence)

He doesn't say much; not like he has anything to say to me. 

He just watches me, his fingers steepled together, his chin resting on the tips. The side of his mouth quirks up in a smirk, the amusement is familiar to me, and he greets me just like that. 

"Hey there, old friend."

I don't answer immediately. 

"Hey."

"You're awfully quiet," he spreads his hands out, "nothing to ask me? About why you ended up here?"

"There's not much to ask," I answer, my voice coming out in soft curls of smoke in the heat, but my heart is strangely calm, my palms smooth and sweat-free. I take a seat, inspect the pearls draped around the table, reaching out a curious finger to touch them. 

"Not much, indeed," he watches me still, a glint in his eyes now as they follow the white pearls slipping in and out of my fingers. They are smooth under my touch, the finest I have touched. 

Not like I have touched other pearls. 

"Don't you want to know why some people suffer more than others?" he asks again, and this time, he's in front of me. His presence is big, obvious, domineering, but I keep my eyes on the pearls. They are prettier than him, more delicate, less jarring. 

"Not really," I look up at him, and the pitch-black gaze draws me in, alluring and mysterious. I blink once, then drop my gaze down. I really don't know what he wants from me. 

"Like I said, I'm not curious," I lick my lips which are charred from the heat, "there's good, there's evil. People enjoy, people suffer. Some go to heaven, some go to hell."

"Mhmm," he's sitting on the floor in front of me now, his chin resting in the palm of his hand. "And? Do you think you deserve to end up here, not even with other souls to accompany you? You're my sole companion here, only me for company."

"Whatever it is, I'm here," I shrug, finally leaving the pearls alone and looking him properly in the eye. He's dark, handsome, and yet there's nothing remotely pure about him. He's who he is, and I am after all, damned to hold conversations with him for an eternity. 

"I can ask you questions as and when I want. Right?" 

He doesn't answer, just watches me before he finally smiles fully. 

"That's right, old friend."

when the lines all blurred out and the images blended into a whirlpool of colour, you stayed sharply in focus. you were a constant in my life that flashed by in still-shots and pixels on paper. you were rooted in the train that was my life, holding the carriages of the various stages of it together.

you're gone now.

but it's like you never left. 

you see someone smiling, and you think to yourself absently, not deliberately, not like that at all.

ah, i want him to smile forever.

there are more than two billion people in this world, with over two billion different smiles and two billion different mouths, but only one makes your heart clench with emotion and the breath leave your lungs in a rush.

it's nothing much; it's not like he's particularly good-looking. he might be close to you, or he might just be someone you see amongst the flashing lights. he might just pass you by one day on the train station, and you might not know his name.

but his smile, his smile is the world to you.

brilliant, blinding, beautiful.

you want to see it forever, and you would do anything to put it onto his face. when the corners of his mouth quirk up and his eyes scrunch up in happiness, there's a warmth that blooms in your chest, tendrils snaking into your veins and you feel like a rainbow has just blossomed inside of your heart. your face warms up, and the muscles hurt from you smiling and somewhere along the way, you taste salt on your lips and you automatically reach up to press the heel of your hands to your eyes, the movement done out of reflex and in vain.

there are over two billion people in this world, but only one smile that makes you feel like that.

she thought about all the things that could have been. she could have gone to university, gotten a job, had a boyfriend who was smart and good looking and gotten married by the time she was thirty. that had been so long ago, it seemed like a lifetime had passed.

it wasn't like that. she was thirty-five years into her life, a cigarette dangling between her lips, ash dropping into her lap as she stared blankly at the canvas in front of her. blankness, whiteness, nothingness. a cruel reflection of her life right now, because she had nothing to show for except the emptiness that she lived in.

they said, don't live life with regret. they said, don't do what you don't want to. they said, it's better to do what your heart beats for. they said, they said; all that they said turned out to be lies, misleading children down winding roads towards disappointments and disillusionments.

she opened her mouth, the cigarette fell to the floor, and she could only watch as the burning tip charred the floor black. there goes half of a cigarette, still half-full with nicotine, but wasted on the floor because of her deciding to open her mouth and let it go.

she's no better than a cigarette, she thought. at least it left a black mark on the pristine white floor.