my hands are frozen under my feet
chin tucked in my knees
eyes staring at the door
I feel nothing at all
and I fell for him
like a suicide from a bridge
and nobody even noticed.
why show the heart what it doesn't want to know?
why declare it upon it's face?
she looked at him
he looked the other way
he looked at her
she looked at her shoes. . .
this is in memory of that one time I saw this guy waiting in the hallway, who caught me staring at him. and I was sooooo embarrassed, that I went on staring at my shoes the whole time, because I felt him looking at me after that.
I never saw the guy ever again.
perhaps, the guy wasn't really there.
It is in the times when you actually think of something to write that nothing comes
And you're stuck listening to the rain falling outside and on the roof
Trying to decipher what it wants to say, you hold out your palms
Inviting the cold smooth droplets of water into your senses.
Or perhaps you create a story about the smell of orange peelings caught in your fingers
Or maybe compose a song about your neighbor's dog,
But still everything is the same as the previous day
Except for the chili beef noodles and a cup of hot coffee you had this morning
Nothing changed, except the urge and want to write something.
we are debris scattered,
waiting for when the wind takes us,
perhaps on a journey,
or nowhere at all,
just laying still in
until we are no more.