#pinkbunny
She came back,
glasses kissed her feet,
smoke closed her eyes.
Those screams…
echo in her soul.
She ran to her room,
heartbeat racing like a horse,
mind gone blank—
finally, the door is locked.
Is she safe now…?
In a room full of
dark lights,
moonlight falls on that chair.
That chair…
The bunny is still smiling,
too full of cotton,
too gloomy in pink.
Where did this creature come from?
He sees her,
but he cannot hug her.
He feels her,
but he cannot pat her.
She hugs him,
thinking one day
she will feel arms
around her back too.
Too sad he is only—
a bunny.
With pages flipping,
days passed.
Laughs still roam
happily on streets.
Cries still drown
silently in oceans.
But what about her?
Oh, finally
she is sleeping
heavily on clouds,
too fragile to carry
any more drama.
And once again,
in a room
full of dark,
moonlight falls on the chair.
That chair…
with the pink bunny smiling.
~BLUE HOUR
Feb 26
Feb 26, 2026 at 3:08 AM UTC
Once I heard something strange, almost unexplainable.
"I hate walking," said Nicole, my brother's girlfriend.
Walking is a living thing, non-reversible, unable to refund.
"I just can't stand it," she said. Well, yes, you should be moving,
moving your legs joining into that movement, that freedom
of absolute expression that boundaries race to form around
In fact, when you put the one foot after the next
it creates a ripple effect which effortlessly continues on and on
"It seems like such a waste of time," but only for the bunny
his batteries died out, drums cracked, sunglasses lost
he seemed lonely until he saw me walking by
"I love walking," I said. And then I left.
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 12:29 AM UTC