puppet or partner

Strange

Did it ever occur to you that the same letters from the word listen make up that of the word silent? And how much I freeze when the thorns coming out of your mouth as harsh as the wind touch my skin?

Have you ever considered looking up the dictionary for the difference between a puppet and a partner? And how much of a mannequin I become whenever you place your hand on my shoulder?

Did it ever occur to you that you were in a relationship?

Have you ever considered I was part of it?

Did you ever even think about me?

And how your unwillingness to concede would make me leave?

perhaps love

Poetry, Strange

Coincidence is the start of something funny, perhaps love. It’s the first curl on someone’s lips after finding out you watch the same kind of movies. It’s the plans running in your head as you talk about this quaint coffee shop most people haven’t heard of. It’s a song slowly fading in on cue when you both laugh at an old stupid joke your neighbor used to tell. It’s when you share the same opinion about politics and then decide to talk about conspiracy theories instead. It’s the excuse hopeless romantics use to meet again on this upcoming event. Coincidence stops when they finally meet on the event and went for beer after. It stops when they arrange to go out the next weekend to watch a new horror movie. It stops when they check out the quaint coffee shop and realized it wasn’t so empty like they expected it to be. It stops when they both start making time for each other just to talk about aliens and the moon landing, to listen to corny jokes and cheesy songs, to decide to officially see each other and meet again and again and again. Coincidence stops when something funny finally happens, perhaps love. And probably commitment.

Faraway Heart

Strange

I dreamt of flying to a faraway heart of which the distance is just one step apart.

So close in touching the sky and yet so far in holding your hand, so easy to step on the ground and yet so hard for our lips to land.

I dreamt of flying to a faraway heart. But I never imagined dreams could be this short.

I dream of flying from a faraway heart. Your incessant indifference will be my passport.

a gallery 

Bitter

The beautiful creaking sound of the wooden floor as I carefully tread the empty gallery is satisfying.

It was a territory I have always been familiar with—my well-planned steps on the way to your heart.

And just like the gallery, it’s empty. 

fade and vanish

Strange

Flee—it has become the word that her heart has been pumping. To run away, fade, and vanish.

Ambitions turn into demons controlling the mind, dreams are screaming where are we going with this life?

Fade and vanish. Away from this free world prisoning her to live the way she likes. 

And maybe die. 

slowly, slowly

Bitter

When you sleep, you start to lose grip of the things that you’re holding. Like the phone on your right hand or the book that you’re reading.

Slowly, slowly, you let go.

You vanish from the world, out of your consciousness, away from here. You create a life where I’m not real.

In case you leave, that’s how it should go. Slowly lose grip of me, then let go.

Daily Post’s Vanish. 

Old Habit

Poetry

girl-hair-love-poem-forgetting

Loving you was like putting my hair away from my face—it has become such a habit that I still do it even after I cut them off my head.

Forgetting you was like waiting for my hair to grow back—painstakingly trying every method until I find one that actually works out.

Illustration of Love

Sweet

 

When I read the daily prompt, I easily remembered this certain photo and the caption it has. Now when I see this, I think of the happy moment from when my workmates and I were just having fun and making #hugot (I highly suggest you click the link to find out). The caption was just the first two sentences of a beautiful prose poetry by Chris. And don’t worry, for I already thanked him for that.

Daily Post’s Contrast.