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There is a pear above me
hovering reluctantly.
It's skin firm,
the colour of meadows in the midst
of spring.

Tightly it clung
to that little stem on the branch
which exerted much effort
to keep it away from the ground.

It looked down on me
wanting badly to be picked.
To be kept inside my pocket
safe - and could be taken out
in dark moments for company.

It could also be tossed roughly in the sack
to migle with other pears.
Scratched pears.
Battered pears.
Broken pears.
Happy pears.
Wounded pears.
Rotten pears.
Abandoned pears.
Neglected pears.
Hate pears.

Love pears.

But it clings, above me
completely out of reach.
It sways in the wind,
impossible to be climbed.

And all I can do
is wait here,
down here, down below
until time exhausts the branch
until it decides to push my pear away
in moments when I am most unprepared.

It will fall on the ground
and I won't be there to catch it - like people execute to people.
Its flesh will cover the pavement
the soil will sap its juice.

It will kiss the soles of my shoes when I passed by
Its remnants will knock, then eventually pound.
And I will see that my untouchable pear
has been reassembled to be a ruin
that shelters history
that homes the history people
with historical names
and historical nails
and historical breath.

That house will contain the smell of oil lamps
lost letters, burnt maps and scarred love
and my pear will accompany the parchment
that human thoughts choose to abandon.

Until then,
I will not be writing for a while.
~Lacus Crystalthorn
I will always remember
your hair cloistered between my fingers.
The dimness of your room
Your half shadowed face inches above mine,
snow flakes on your forehead,
melting between us.

Your mouth half-opened
the entire universe trembling inside.
Your voice encompassing me,
all over,
tearing me apart.

I will always remember
how you scarred my skin
and how,
every single day,
I searched the trail of your breath

Between the years we could have defied,
Between the oceans we could have swallowed,
Between the destinies we could have cheated
Between the words we could have said,
Between the summers we could have captured

and stuffed in that small hole on my chest
screaming your name,
demanding to be eaten
by you.
~Lacus Crystalthorn 2013
Later, I will write a statement welcoming the graduates in the real world.

You know, that world they never told them about: the kind of world that will compel them to wake up at 5:00 in the morning, eat, ****, **** in a limited span of time, do a job repetitively for 8-10 hours which will eventually deprives them of their human growth and dignity in exchange of a mere salary - a portion from the total amount of money which the workers themselves had essentially generated.

Later, I will write a statement welcoming the graduates in the real world.
You know, that oppressive world they will inevitably despise
then eventually overthrow.
~Lacus Crystalthorn 2013
Once upon a time mermaids exist.

And castles.
And princes.
And villains.
But never witch, and princesses.

Silverleaf stands above the bricked walls of old shops where hopes were traded for a three year memory.

The old shops breathe on the path made of leaves and twigs and wishes. It ascended to the tower that looks up to heaven forever, to the turrets which the clouds never abandon, to the place where the prince lived. With his wicked uncle.

His mother, with a hair the colour of winter and eyes where dreams lay, died after childbirth. His father whose veins were made up of stars and heart of sandcastle, was murdered in his sleep. And he, the prince, like his parents, will inevitably be killed.

When the time comes.
After he had been crowned.
Before he rules the land.

As he was young and the air was crisp and the day luminous and everything the shade of honey, the mermaid found the prince. Her scales glitter in the sun like crystals basking in summer glow. Her hair was dripped in promises. Her eyes the shade of lilac, of verse, of those people whose world has been swallowed by the sea.

She said hello to the prince.
And smiled.
And the prince fell in love.

As everything does.
Before it falls apart.

The prince went back beside the cave wall, on the stone, to meet the mermaid, day after day. He told her endless tales about burnt maps and oil lamps and treasures and pirates and chivalry. He promised her great lands, and gold. He said he'd build a vast ocean inside the palace where she would live, after he had married her. He said they would have children whose name would be the name of the remote islands, of silence, of the distant worlds and secret happiness. It was the place where he looked at her, interminably. And kissed her. And made love to her. In summer time. On the stone.

And in that moment, I swear they were infinite.

It came. The prince was hailed as the king. The greed to be fulfilled. The uncle to do the act. The death to arrive. The prince to breathe his last.

So with a sword made of glass and unicorn's tears, he stabbed the prince and twisted his heart and snapped its beat like a flower's stem. In disbelief the prince moved back. In triumph his uncle laughed. The prince's hand darted in his pocket, felt the flusk, parted his mouth, exhaled her name and locked her memory in the bottle. The prince fell down. The bottled broke and scattered themselves like confetti. His heed fluttered away from his palm, into neverwhere.

He stooped low, the uncle, and carried the dead body of the prince to the cave, beside the stone. And owned the palace and ruled the land.

The mermaid emerged from the water, held his neck, pecked on his cheek as if marking him hers, and took him to the place where every second never ceases.

And down
And down
And away
they

went.
~Lacus Crystalthorn 2012
The crows spent the entire night on your roof.

They have swallowed the moon, and rested on the curtain. Soil and death lingered on their feet, as if ready to take their final clutch.

I flinched as you lifted the lid. You can almost imagine me down here, I suppose, yellowed by the hanging street light which warmth had abandoned after fireflies found a sanctuary in its suspended cold feet. I'm afraid I can only last until morning, but I will still love you until then.

Please, leave a gap on your window.

Let the breeze enter; I will part the wind
and I will slip past your curtain.

I will lie with you
and we will exchange battered whispers.

I will alter the stars
and we will dismember the hours.
We will defy infinity.


**We will disappear.
It happened again. The vulture came and perched on the sill.

But this time, unlike all the other times, it pecked on our windowpane. I unbolted the lid, lifted the frame, and offered some bread crumbs. It didn’t stir. I scattered the morsel on its feet, which it picked like fallen friends.

Aside from this long deserted corridor and abandonment lingering on my exhausted underwear, I wonder what I would have for breakfast.

I half expected that the stars would be reborn after its embers had disembarked. Like a dying flame on the grate, every night when you stir the coal and feed me with lies. In your flicker I have placed my heart, and let my flesh, my bones, my thoughts, be extinguished by its tongue. Only to be molded again, like months, like years, like centuries of false promises and interminable greed. All going on, forever.

And today, the sun had burnt itself into cinders. The ashes is everywhere. On our bedcover where we set the world aside and built an new one. On the wall which witnessed those infinite hours we had, those minutes when my bounty was as boundless as the sea, those seconds when you stared at me before you sleep. It lingers on the fabric of the clothes you last wore, before I heard the creaking steps of your departure, of which you were stationed in some distant place, of which you were told that your country was in grave danger, of which your patriotism is highly requested. Of which you complied. Of which you never returned.

You met another woman, I heard.

I hadn’t cleaned the room for ages. I desire to preserve your scent. Layers of sawdust are now resting on the looking glass, which had witnessed both our everlasting days and hideous crimes, which had shared my fear of you going, my anticipation of you coming back home, and my pain of learning that you were killed in the war, which the government had plotted in order to save the country’s dying economy.

You met another woman, I heard. And told her everything about me.

The vulture came everyday. I have known it for ages, had even fooled myself to befriended by it. The last time it perched on the sill was the last time I saw you, after you had received an order commanding you to join the military. Of which you cannot refuse. Of which, in this continent, we have no choice, but to abide.

And now, it’s here again. And had perched again.

The country requires the service of our eldest son, I heard.

The vulture told me.
~Lacus Crystalthorn 2012
This morning as I stroll along, I passed by two security guards carrying guns that could practically shatter
a person's head in a single bullet. Between them stood an ATM being refilled by a bank associate.

This is capitalism:
**An era when paper has more protection and value than human lives.
Lacus Crystalthorn, 2013
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