#pumpkin - Hello Poetry

There was a man in a cafe, sitting by the window. Looking hyper-focused on the paper he was writing on. Scribbling fast on the paper, holding his hair in frustration. His glasses slid down on the bridge of his nose. He was sweating, even with the air conditioner on. No, he was crying, but not sobbing. He was huffing, but not in anger. Frustrated, he slammed his notebook shut. Holding his chest to ease the heaviness in his heart, he took a sip of his pumpkin spice latte. No longer hot, for he has ignored it for two hours. Two hours of frustration, on writing whatever on the paper. Two hours of mumbling words to himself. Two hours of desperation, writing to his lover. Finally, he left, after shoving his little notebook and pen in his jean jacket. A torn page from his notebook was left at his table. The page reads: “Loving you was breathing air to me, Holding you was a blessing to me, Yet losing you is a bane in my existence. Why must you let me go pumpkin? Why must you leave me for someone new? Perhaps if you never kissed him, I would not have pulled the trigger, and bury your lifeless body under my mother’s pumpkin patch on a monday night.” As the man walked out into the street, with his head down, and heart screaming with guilt. His surroundings became blurry, accompanied by ringing in his ears. Lost in his head, he didn't see the truck coming, nor the bright red light across the street. In a blink of an eye, he got smashed just like a pumpkin. - N.V. 🥀

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Nov 3, 2025

Nov 3, 2025 at 3:16 AM UTC

nyx_velora04

Oh Pumpkin, Pumpkin

There was a man in a cafe, sitting by the window. Looking hyper-focused on the paper he was writing on. Scribbling fast on the paper, holding his hair in frustration. His glasses slid down on the bridge of his nose. He was sweating, even with the air conditioner on. No, he was crying, but not sobbing. He was huffing, but not in anger. Frustrated, he slammed his notebook shut. Holding his chest to ease the heaviness in his heart, he took a sip of his pumpkin spice latte. No longer hot, for he has ignored it for two hours. Two hours of frustration, on writing whatever on the paper. Two hours of mumbling words to himself. Two hours of desperation, writing to his lover. Finally, he left, after shoving his little notebook and pen in his jean jacket. A torn page from his notebook was left at his table. The page reads: “Loving you was breathing air to me, Holding you was a blessing to me, Yet losing you is a bane in my existence. Why must you let me go pumpkin? Why must you leave me for someone new? Perhaps if you never kissed him, I would not have pulled the trigger, and bury your lifeless body under my mother’s pumpkin patch on a monday night.” As the man walked out into the street, with his head down, and heart screaming with guilt. His surroundings became blurry, accompanied by ringing in his ears. Lost in his head, he didn't see the truck coming, nor the bright red light across the street. In a blink of an eye, he got smashed just like a pumpkin. - N.V. 🥀