Morning sun

Morning sun lit up the room, through the slits of the window curtains, I saw rays of light shine and brighten the world.

You shifted over, eyes still closed, crushing me with a hug till I couldn’t keep the air in my lungs. You take away my breathe.

I couldn’t help hold my breath, I knew it. What you’re about to say next would probably kill me.



Dull null

It wasn’t like the crying you would see in the movies, where the drama queen drops down on the floor and the images turn black and white, thundering ad tumbling tears pour down her agonised face and she shakes her perfect hair and shouts into the sky — No, it isn’t like that. It was more, it was so much more.

It was trying to breath under water, struggling to survive the crashing waves and inhale the terrible oxygen, waving your arms and legs, flailing and kicking to head towards the surface. Seeing the bubbles leave your nostrils and your mouth while you start to choke, it is that sort of feeling.

It was like the quiet room filling with a suffocating silence, like a silent killer driving a knife through your body, right between your lungs. It was a slow, sharp knife, pricking through the skin and then nudging between the muscles, tearing up the flesh the razor comes in contact with. Breathing in that moment you feel a great pain, right in the middle of your chest, it is that sort of feeling.

It was like lying in the snow naked, cold bites from the snowflakes that land on your skin, like a slowly creeping cold vine, sapping away your life. But you’re trying to make a snow angel and your skin scrapes against the hard snow, redness spreads from the surface to deeper tissue. Exhaling you feel more heat leaving you, a sinking, it is that sort of feeling.




“What do you see in me?” she asked, taking in the scenery and avoiding my gaze. The grass seemed almost dead or dying anyways, a barren land filled with dry soil and unimportant litter.
Lighting up my cigarette I took a deep breathe. The clicking of a lighter shook the land, fear quivered from the brittle bits of leaves and sticks.
“Why ask? There are too many answers to this question you ask,” I answered, not wanting to ponder on the subject. “What do you see in this piece of land?”
She hesitated, trying digest and understand what my question meant: were there any deeper meanings? Was I trying to say something?
“Well… It’s a dead plain, for now. It’ll grow again someday, but I don’t know when, nor do I know if anything else will have to happen before it becomes green and luscious again.”
I dropped my lit cigarette onto the dry inferno.

Full Moon

White, bright moon hanging in the sky and all I could think of was that moment when our noses brushed. How pathetic to be looking upon that orb that shines with such dark thoughts.
I have never felt so lonely, is it how the moon feels too? To be constantly alone, reflecting upon the superior, remembered for being a piece of rock that light from the sun bounced off from. They said this year’s moon was one of the biggest I would see, and indeed it magnified the hollowness and that pang of loneliness hit me.
Werewolves howled for their loneliness too, once in a full moon, because they are misunderstood, and a mistake in the existence of their beings. The moon laments with them, for choosing the wrong way to orbit, the forget that it once was somewhere else roaming for a purpose in existing.



“So this will be a short interview, and just try to answer as succinctly as possible. Ok?” Looking down, she scribble my name on a piece of paper, lines underneath prepare to be written on.
“What do you think of when I say ‘Yellow’?”
“How about ‘Sleep’?”
“Full moons.”
“Full moons? That’s interesting, and honestly baffling. Okay, alright. ‘Eyes’?” she asked, busily writing and writing and writing.
“Sea, as in the ocean kind of sea.” I said, clearing my throat to not sound like a croaking frog. “A calm sea, unless the eyes is tearing up, then that’s a stormy one.”
Her pen came to a pause, pecking at the paper as she tapped on it. “Why?”
I shrugged it off, hoping she would let it go.
Her gaze was hot and almost as if she was digging into my brain with her imaginary drills, trying to understand.
All I could think of was not to think of the tofu lips yours tasted like.