#shortstory
Your voice is thunder
That frightens the sailors of the sky
You stand upon my palm
Transformed into a drop of flash
You nestle against the flame in my chest
Seeking its warmth
I fight for you like a bird for a crumb of bread
Or a wolf snatching a bone
When the silence swallows me
My marble will bleed white blood
In the depth of the white line, your name will stand
Screamed through a final breath
The mouths of branches will break into song
And the moss will embrace you
They promised
Bijela krv
Tvoj glas je grom
Što plaši nebeske mornare
Stojiš mi na dlanu
Preobražen u kap bljeska
Umiljavaš se plamenu u mojim grudima
Ne bi li te ugrijao
Za tebe se borim ko ptica za mrvu hljeba
Ili vuk što otima kost
Kada me tisina proguta
Moj mermer će prokrvariti bijelu krv
U dubini bijele crte stajaće tvoje ime
Vrisnuto kroz poslednji dah
Usta grana ce zapjevati
A mahovina te grliti
Obećale su
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 3:13 AM UTC
It was dark. Not by chance, by choice. My mother didn't pay the light bill even though she used to have the money. The money that my father took from her earlier to go gambling.
"This is where you find the stars!" he used to say to me before he disappeared in the casino.
He never found any stars.
He did find the darkness of failure in there though. He brought that home with him.
At least we had enough of that. The murky grey at dusk, the pitch black at midnight.
We learned in school that sound travels faster when it's dark. I always thought that to be false. That was until our light went out and my father came home to my mother. Still no stars, but now, a broken lightbulb.
I always wished I could bring one piece of the previous light back to us on those nights. To stop the yelling and the slamming. My father never found the stars - so he made my mother see them.
She started to find the light in bottles. Hope. They both did, eventually. Tiny specks of dusty warmth that lit up their insides. I felt the light in my heart flicker quietly as every night came on.
I ended up taking a small job after school hours. They never asked where I went and I never told them either.
By the time I had enough to fix our light, my father had sent my mother up to the stars.
Mar 15
Mar 15, 2026 at 12:31 PM UTC
She walks in, her eyes like soft pencil lines.
She smiles when she looks at the waitress,
ordering a coffee.
I sip mine slow, looking out the diner window.
“You always draw this late?” she asks.
Only when I can’t sleep. Or when I’m hungry.
Just depends on which one happens first.
She rolls her eyes.
Falling feels like a good pen that suddenly runs out of ink.
Normally, when I draw, I’m in my own little world.
No conversation. Just my graphite and my sketchpad.
Of all the beautiful colors that life can arrange,
I admit—I’m intrigued by this woman.
I completely put my pencil down and let my coffee get cold.
But that’s how fast inspiration strikes.
This grayscale drawing, splashed with the rainbow that is her.
Although I’m listening, I keep my head down,
pretending I’m still drawing the picture I was working on
when she first walked in.
She sits two booths away, hesitating before asking,
“Can you draw me?”
I look up immediately.
“You’d have to come closer.”
I catch the reflection of the city in her eyes—
the blinking sign outside, the brake lights from the cars.
I flip the page and start tracing lines on my sketchpad.
She tilts her head, watching my progress.
I ask the waitress for a refill.
“Do you ever draw people you don’t know?”
I look at her, smile, and say, “No.”
At some point, we see everyone before we really meet them.
In a way, it wasn’t a lie.
I have seen her somewhere before.
Or at least, I’ve thought of meeting someone
who looks the way she looks.
But then again, art is subjective.
She watches me over the rim of her mug as she sips her coffee.
She leans forward.
“What do you see when you look at me?”
The most beautiful things happen at unexpected moments.
Normally, when someone asks a question like that,
if you answer too fast, it’s a lie.
If you take too long, it’s a lie.
Before I knew it, I told her:
“Someone that talks to strangers when she’s bored.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Let me see.”
I show her the sketch,
point at it, and imitate her voice.
“Can you draw me?”
It’s not exactly polished.
She studies the rough graphite,
scratched to life between the pores of the page.
She rests her elbows on the table.
Before she answers, I speak first.
“I think about what things can be, versus what’s presented to us.
If we tell each other something deep about ourselves—
a strong 7.5 out of 10—it’s going to be either forgettable
or full of **** Either way, we’re both hoping
not to regret opening up
to someone who’s just going to nod and smile.”
She smirks.
“If I told you I love the progress on the picture so far, what then?”
I shrug.
“I’d still think you’re full of ****
But you’re kind of cute.”
Falling feels like a good pen that suddenly runs out of ink.
To be honest, I don’t think it’s the uncertainty of where I’d land.
I haven’t exactly lived my life by the advice I give other people.
I never really think about the end of things.
Whatever I do, I just go with it and expect the best.
I think about it, of course.
But eventually, the ink runs out.
That’s just life.
Although I’m drawing her physically,
in my mind, I’ve drawn the curve of her neck twice over.
The thought of drawing someone else
doesn’t even come to mind
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 12:24 AM UTC
Winter noisily clears his throat.
“Good Christ,” he says, “I just can’t shake this thing.”
He theatrically spits,
paTOOey, like Clint Eastwood,
into the Great Lakes region.
(Another record-breaker in Buffalo).
The Wind hisses, snaking through the dead leaves that carpet the frozen forest floor.
“Repulsive,” she mutters, and the waving grasses nod in agreement.
Winter is not in the mood. He freezes the grasses where they stand.
The Wind shimmies up the nearest tree and settles herself on a boney limb. It sways gently, as if underwater, and a few lean grackles startle and take to the air.
“What’s eating you?”
The sky will be the same color all day,
so it’s difficult to tell the exact time.
Could be nine or noon or 4:30.
People hate days like this,
but Winter relishes them, revels in them. Nothing comforts him more than an oppressively slate gray sky.
“I scheduled my favorite sky today but I can’t enjoy it. I think I’m getting sick.” He summons up another storm and accidentally drops it, this time on New Orleans.
“You’re getting sloppy, old man,” she says flatly. Winter is blustering and aggressive and gets on The Wind’s nerves when they have to spend this much time together.
She arches her back and sighs in irritation, disturbing the surrounding fauna. From the canopy above erupts a cacophonous flurry, jarred from their roosting place and screaming into the air: cedar waxwings and white-crowned sparrows, dark-eyed juncos, mourning doves and a lone red shouldered hawk, which arcs above the rest eying them hungrily. It selects a small sparrow and abruptly knifes down toward it, effortlessly slicing the sky in two.
Winter and The Wind watch quietly, interestedly. It’s one thing neither of them has control over. Fate.
Evolution and animal behavior can be influenced to a degree; landscapes and eco systems crafted; civilizations built and destroyed as quickly and easily as drying up a river. What’s written in the stars, the plot and grand finale of every living being, that’s a different department entirely.
Winter leans in,
“My money’s on the big one.”
The Wind rolls her eyes,
“How on-brand. I would have bet on the little one anyway.”
The two birds, predator and prey, swoop and dive gracefully through the dark daytime sky, a carefully choreographed dance imprinted on each of their DNA since the dawn of their creation. The little sparrow is fast but the hawk is just too big. It will clearly catch her.
“I think it’s because I’m overworked,” Winter looks at The Wind, continuing. “The snow quotas were raised just about everywhere except my usual route, you know? The Poles are really starting to freak out and it’s like, I’m telling them, sometimes you’ve gotta give a little to get a lot. I don’t want to promise them a new Ice Age just yet but all signs point to yes. It’s time for another big boy freeze, Wind, I can feel it in my bones.”
The Wind is still watching the birds. “We can only do so much planning right now while everything is so unpredictable. My schedule has me fanning California wildfires this season and it’s a real drag. I didn’t agree to this project, but you can’t just say that, right? So I’m there, I’m doing it professionally, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s a little outside my scope. Like, wildfires in the Palisades? I spoke to Fire and do you know it wasn’t even on her calendar? The extinction process is always so laborious and disorganized.”
The hawk is climbing altitude now, it won’t be long before it goes in for the **** Exhausted, the sparrow flutters weakly, unable to give up.
Time briefly suspends, then a flash of feathers and talons and beak and it’s over. The little sparrow dies silently and maybe even gladly. She was so tired. Away, away, balanced upon the line of the horizon they both go, away to a nest or a cliffside to both fulfill their roles in the divine comedy.
******* Nature.” The Wind has sat with Winter this way for aeons, since the birth of this place. She always bets on the small ones.
Winter smiles at her. “It’s been a long time since I had an Ice Age.” He clears his throat again and makes to rid himself of it, but The Wind cuts him off.
“You’re disgusting, I can’t sit here with you while you snow, it skeeves me out. I have a meeting with a weather system over the Baltic Sea that I can’t be late for anyway. Look, if you’re sick, you should rest. The next Ice Age can wait.”
She blows him a kiss and is gone, and the forest stills.
Winter is alone again. He begins the satisfying work of preparing for the evening’s offerings: black velvet darkness beneath a swath of gray expanse. An ice storm in the wee hours will see a glorious sunrise in a crystalline wood, the light dancing and refracting joyfully from blade to base to branch. He enjoys Wind’s company but doesn’t miss her. No one will lay eyes on tonight’s workings but the forest creatures and the celestials. This one is for them, and for the white-crowned sparrow. She deserves a holy funeral.
The hawk, back in its nest, gazes steadily at the slate gray sky. Night is coming. The hawk breathes in and out. In and out.
In.
And out.
Jan 24, 2025
Jan 24, 2025 at 9:24 PM UTC
In the mirror of his choices, he sees his own face,
No longer a pawn in this intricate race.
The roles he has taken, he wears like a cloak,
Not shackles that bind him, but armor bespoke.
He owns this journey, the paths that he treads,
Neither saint nor sinner, just the words he has said.
Good or bad for another, that’s theirs to define,
But the power he holds is solely his design.
He won’t let the titles dictate who he is,
Not a king nor a beggar, just a man with a vision.
These labels are fleeting, like whispers in air,
He breathes in the moment, letting go of the care.
What he has is temporary, a gift in disguise,
Each day a new canvas, painted with skies.
So he slows down the tempo, finds peace in the flow,
Embracing the present, wherever it goes.
No rush to abandon what life has bestowed,
He’ll walk with intention on this winding road.
He’ll savor each heartbeat, each laugh, and each sigh,
Living for now, letting time slip by.
With every decision, he carves out his way,
No chains on his spirit, just freedom to sway.
In the dance of existence, he’ll find his own song,
For he is who he chooses, and he’ll carry along.
Sep 25, 2024
Sep 25, 2024 at 3:03 AM UTC
We stood together, side by side,
Watching the apple trees far and wide.
A family tended them with care,
A simple life, without despair.
No crowns to wear, no battles to fight,
Just the quiet peace of fading light.
You and I, we shared the same dream,
To be nothing, to let go of the gleam.
No burden of names, no titles to hold,
Just the warmth of the earth, a story untold.
A wish we carried after all these years,
To live without weight, without our fears.
We looked at the trees and whispered aloud,
Maybe this was their wish, the first and proud—
Adam and Eve, in a world so wide,
Longing for peace, with nothing to hide.
To return to the soil, to live and to breathe,
Without the sorrow, without the need.
We saw it there, in the family’s hands,
A life of simplicity, not by command.
And as the apple trees swayed in the breeze,
We felt the truth, as soft as the leaves—
That we and they, through time and strife,
Only ever wished for a normal life.
Sep 25, 2024
Sep 25, 2024 at 12:43 AM UTC
I don’t know what it was, but it was beautiful, and warm. It was almost blinding. It was something I’ve never seen before, but it felt like a place that I had been many times. There was a sharp pain, but only for a moment. The pain left my body, and I assume so did I. In plain view, high above myself, I saw my small body and the blood pooling around my tiny skull. People rushing to help, touching my head to help the bleeding stop, but I felt nothing. They called for help, and I heard not a sound. I looked up, felt no fear, and I flew high above the ground. Faster than I’d ever seen anything move.
The higher I rose in the atmosphere, more parts of me began to fall away. My skin, clear. I could see my insides and my lungs as they breathed. The mechanism of this physical life. Then it was gone. Everything that I knew I was had completely disappeared. I moved out of time, leaped into space. There I was, no longer anything. Surrounded by nothing. I became a God just riding my bike.
We live in such a minimal world, so much unknown an so little perceived. The colors I could see are like nothing anyone has ever seen. They are brighter, and they can talk to me. They told me this was where I belonged, and this was my home and I’m welcome any time, but that I’m earlier than expected. They knew me. They knew my entire life and all the ones before. The longer I stayed the more I understood. My soul, still in the age of a child, so they told me to go back. This is just a small step on a journey of excellence. I have too much life to live and learn. This experience, would also serve its purpose.
Time seemed to go on for years and with every passing moment my own colorful form would expand. The longer I lingered the harder it became to collect all the parts of whatever it is I had become. The images before me spun and swirled. Their movements were seamless and graceful. I experienced all these sensations no human had ever described. Then one, finally felt familiar. I felt the sensation of falling. Whatever I was, color reaching across space, was ****** back into itself and it blurred my vision.
I began floating downward, slowly. As I descended I gained lightning speed, and took back my recognizable form. My physical body, my fingers and toes had returned, and I felt the wind on my skin. And there I was, still lying on the ground. A blanket over my shoulders, my lips still pink. I hovered there for a long while recalling all that I had just experienced. I knew as soon as I returned my memory would betray me. My selfish attempt to recall the colors I had grown to love. My physical body was merely seven years old, but that’s old enough for the ties to be severed, to have lost that connection to the spirals. The innocence that gets buried by death, and I wanted to remember.
So I gave in. I opened my eyes. The clouds were bright and my mother’s eyes ignited. Her screams of joy were shattering, and her voice a familiar sound from my journey. I sat up, touched the blood that ran down my face, and flew again, this time into my mother’s arms. She held me and cried, thanking God for letting me live. Unknowingly thanking me for my own decision. I sobbed, grateful for this home.
I was back, I was alive, and I remembered.
Sep 24, 2024
Sep 24, 2024 at 8:03 PM UTC
He sat beside me, quiet and still,
His hands on the keys, with a hidden skill.
No one knew the song he could play,
But in that moment, he led the way.
His fingers moved with gentle grace,
A melody soft, filling the space.
He said, “I find it hard to show,
The feelings inside I barely know.”
So he taught me how the music flows,
How in each note, a story grows.
Through keys and chords, his heart was revealed,
A language of sound, long concealed.
He wasn’t one to share his mind,
But through the piano, we intertwined.
Each lesson more than just a song,
A way to express what felt so wrong.
No words were needed, no voice to speak,
His emotions poured in every streak.
I learned not just the notes he played,
But the silent thoughts he’d never say.
And as the melody lingered on,
I felt the depth of what had been drawn.
In teaching me, he found his release,
Through music, his heart had found its peace.
Now when I play, I hear his soul,
The quiet man who made me whole.
In those lessons, I came to see,
That music was how he shared with me.
Sep 24, 2024
Sep 24, 2024 at 1:14 PM UTC
On a quiet shore where the waves softly kissed,
She wandered alone, lost in the mist.
The sun dipped low, painting skies of gold,
When a figure emerged, his story untold.
He knelt by the tide, where the ocean meets land,
Writing something secret in the warm, golden sand.
Curiosity stirred as she drew near,
A message inscribed that brought forth a tear.
“I was dead,” it read, “but now I am found,
In the whispers of waves, where hope can abound.”
Her heart skipped a beat at the words he had penned,
A moment so fleeting, yet time seemed to bend.
He looked up and smiled, a light in his eyes,
A warmth in his gaze that felt like the skies.
In his hand, a bottle, filled with sea’s treasure,
A gift from the depths, a token of pleasure.
“Take this,” he said, “for you’re never alone,
In the depths of the ocean, we’ve all found a home.”
With sea glass and shells, the bottle held dreams,
A piece of the ocean, or so it seems.
She stood there in wonder, with the setting sun,
As waves danced around them, their spirits as one.
For in that brief moment, a connection so real,
She found something precious, something to feel.
As the tide washed away what was written that day,
The message lingered on, in her heart it would stay.
For the man by the shore, with his words in the sand,
Gave her hope in the ocean, and the strength to withstand.
Sep 24, 2024
Sep 24, 2024 at 6:24 AM UTC
The universe was on my side when I bought that winning ticket. I stumbled upon more money than I knew what to do with. The first objective on my list was to get out of that awful apartment. The paper thin walls made it hard to exist. The musty smell of leaky faucets. Now I could go anywhere. Do, or be anything. The run down city I used to call home, became old news so I left it behind.
I flew across the sea, traveling along northern European lands until I found a little forest on the boarder of coastline. I made an appointment to procure this piece of land, a blank slate that I could manipulate into whatever I desired. A quiet place I could finally create the peace I always craved.
The day was damp, foggy, and gray. I drove up the gravel road I had already explored. A powerful sensation of dread crept into my spine, and burned my chest, it grew the closer I got to the little shack in the grove. I refused to acknowledge any thoughts of negativity, this was everything I had ever wanted, and needed. All my life I longed for a secluded little space to be inspired from, to evolve into my personal sanctuary.
I imagined a pool house and detached sauna. Three stories of cement with skylights in every room on the top floor. I saw an acre of landscape with waterfalls and ponds. Oh the work I have ahead of me to transform this lost land. Time had done its damage but it will soon be mine to improve. There are trees to be cut, bushes to be trimmed, and grass to be uprooted for the driveway.
The atmosphere grew colder as I pulled up to the broken windows and chipped shiplap. The only structure within the vast acreage I would acquire. The foliage was overgrown leading to the tree line. Behind the tall grass, more acres of woods stood waiting to be explored for what could be the first time in a century. The sound of the creek, the large meadow opposite of the trees, it all seemed too perfect to imagine. Yet, those feelings of dread and displacement grew larger than the tip of the oaks that stood before me.
The little house was decrepit. Whoever built it left without finishing. The roof was missing shingles, and the walls were rotten with mold. The windows had broken from swelling in the misty morning fog. Food left on tables I could smell from a distance. The realtor said the last owners only stayed a few weeks before leaving without a trace. Surely everything here had to go, including the branches than had fallen in front of the door. Demolition was now at the top of my list. I would hire a team to quickly tear down everything in sight.
I had seen all I needed to see. The decision was easily made. I needed this place to be mine, but that feeling in my spine, in the chest, it crawled into my throat. I stepped to the edge of the tree line, and the wind blew so hard it ****** me into the branches. The sound of the forest grew louder than my own thoughts. There were different languages I had never heard before, for the wind, the leaves, and the insects that now surrounded me. These voices boomed and consumed my entire mind until they synchronized. They tried every language until finding the one I understood.
It was clear I was unwelcome here. This untouched place, full of ghosts and beech trees. The voices spoke and told me I should leave. Humans weren’t welcome in this part of their realm. The tornado of wind finally slowed down and I was able to see. Skulls and other bones, piled around me. Some more decayed than others, but all human. No animal carcass in sight. They intertwined with the roots, were half eaten by fallen leaves. The collective voice spoke to me again, it said if I were to linger too long this would surely be my end. That the forest would **** me in and use my body to bloom. With every corpse it claimed, the forest grew.
I felt breathless as another gust of wind spat me out. I wanted this place! It was mine! I needed the natural world at my side, but it did not want me. It wanted no part of my vision of planned destruction. It would rather feed on the death of the most natural parts of me.
I left quickly, as to not further disturb this evil sanctuary. The message was clear and I followed the instructions. I left all that beauty behind, untouched, and wondered if the previous owners had become part of the woodland graveyard. Did they stay and try to commune into nature, to learn and grow and speak their language? Or did they flee, like me?
I still value my life, and I do not want it to end.
Why would I when I still have all that money to spend?
Sep 24, 2024
Sep 24, 2024 at 12:28 AM UTC
i hope one day i can say this
to my other half-
everybody has their own story,
i just happen to find yours
more intriguing
just saying though,
it's not as if I can escape the curse
of singleness :>
Sep 18, 2024
Sep 18, 2024 at 7:50 AM UTC
Washed in the image of noon; hoping to meet by five-
waiting patiently in a bus; so empty that different spaces
exist, not to be used. Can’t be late; seated in a dead silent
bus ride, as all manners of conversation are late
My own scent betrays me; foretelling the amount
of a day’s work; as the weekend is a fondest dream,
There’s still yesterday’s coffee stuck on my shirt,
stained in the privacy of four walls; where I get to see
touch, and embrace you once again
…the only true reason I look forward to
the end of the day- my woman, my lady.
Jul 23, 2024
Jul 23, 2024 at 11:58 AM UTC
It's ok to sometimes fall out of balance.
Out of flow like a leaf that gets stuck somewhere between branches or stones.
A minute ago this leaf was flying graciously like a butterfly but it lost its balance and got stuck. Squeezed between some objects.
Now it has to stop worrying. To look around and to breath. "Where am I?" it says. "A minute ago I was flying carelessly like a beautiful butterfly 🦋 and now...?" it thinks.
"It's ok to lose your balance sometimes" it hears an unfamiliar voice. "It happens so that you can stop and look around for a moment. It happens so that you can appreciate what is here now. Breath, relax. Soon enough you will fly again."
🙏
Or maybe... the balance gets restored when I lose my fast pace for a minute?
Dec 14, 2023
Dec 14, 2023 at 1:34 PM UTC
There was once a weak little sparrow. She has yet to learn to fly, so she fell out of the nest. Little did she know it would keep her alive. In a small stream she drifted on by as the other creatures burned alive, a fire engulfed the forest she once called home. It nipped the edges of the stream burning her wings, as time went by the fire died leaving the entire forest in ash. A lone witch searched the forest with tears in her eyes for any signs of life.
Only to find a lone little bird, barely clinging to life, desperate to survive. So the little witch took the little sparrow home, trying to save its life. Her wings were badly burned, and she would never be able to fly. The witch did what she could and kept the bird alive, but as time went by the sparrow grew sad. Knowing everything was gone, and she was alone as she looked at the burned forest.
Then the little witch had an idea, to try and turn the sparrow human, so they wouldn't feel so alone anymore. She didn't see the agony that would cause the sparrow, and never expected the burn scars would stay. So the little sparrow was turned human, well mostly. The witch has to teach her how to be human, which took many years. Eventually they lived comfortably, enjoying each other's company, but good things never last.
Someone from the nearby village saw the little witch and her small hut. They were suspicious of her, hating anything different from them. They looked disgusted by the other one, the sparrow didn't look like them. Not only that, but they hated the witch and chained the sparrow, forcing her to watch as they burned the witch. They studied the odd girl, wanting to know what she was, why she was different. The torture seemed to never stop, till she finally broke, harnessing the witches power and the life of the ancient forest that was burned. The ancient forest where she was born was burned by the villagers and the magic went into the little sparrow, hoping she would survive.
She went into a fury, slaughtering the village, leaving nothing left of the ones who tortured her, burned her only family alive and destroyed her home. She when she finally calmed, she was on the mountain overlooking the dead forest and decimated village, realizing she was truly alone.
Aug 19, 2023
Aug 19, 2023 at 1:14 AM UTC
the beat of drums pounded into her heart
releasing signals in her brain to jolt her head up and down to the rhythms.
she sang and screeched and carried on long into the night as she kissed the cheeks of some man who called her cute.
she returned home with his tattooed arm in her coat, clutching onto her for dear life; the way he should have treated his phone on the dance floor.
he flopped on the sofa, slurring his words like a sorority girl; hammered.
he blacked out belligerently drunk on her couch and at one in the afternoon he arose, coughing, residue on his fingers.
his face covered in drool from sleeping dramatically like a madman.
she handed him an advil, a glass of purified water, and her phone to call someone he had had any contact with before.
his face was pale and sickly; she could tell he felt crushed by the weight of his bewilderment.
his eyes, though strung out, were jet blue with a glimmer of teenage angst and a spark of the hopeful nature of a child in a field of dandelions.
he uttered few words and collapsed into the firm motherly hold of the couch, struck from exhaustion.
he gazed up at her, who was half naked since she had only been awake for three hours and had nowhere to go because she was too embarrassed to bare the bruises in the creases of her neck to the public.
but instead of speaking to her, he started gulping down the water after taking 3 pills of advil to make the pain disintegrate.
carefully, he set the chilly cup down and stood up slowly and steadily.
he gasped feebly, but managed to prop himself up on his two wobbly legs.
“you alright there?” she asked as casually as possible, to make him perceive her as less of a threat.
“where am i?” he inquired to this woman he faintly recalled.
“oh,” she giggled, “my house. you blacked out on my couch yesterday and i didn’t want to move you, you looked so peaceful, so i just left you there. hope you’re ok with that.”
“okay with that?” he asked gently.
“well yeah, i’d feel pretty worried if i ended up at a random strangers house on a saturday morning.”
he chuckled.
“well, to answer your question, yes i am quite confused, but i am a free spirit. so this is basically just a new experience i can add to my repertoire.”
she raised an eyebrow. “repertoire?” she pondered.
“well, i write music for a living.” he smiled sumptuously.
“you do?” her cheek bones got visibly higher and her eyes didn’t have the same troubled look to them as they did a few minutes ago.
“yes. i am not a very good musician, but my band and i get by. we play gigs at places. oh right, like last night. we were playing for fun and then...oh! a girl was kissing me. now i remember!” he was quite proud of himself for that.
“well, that’s the funny thing,” she started, “i was the one who was kissing you.” she laughed briskly.
“you were?” he asked, totally perplexed.
“of course. i didn’t know you were playing for that place last night, i thought you were a waiter or a pedestrian or something. ooh, or an alcoholic!”
“ouch.” he grinned delicately.
“no, no offense though.”
“too late, i already took it to my cast iron heart,” he joked.
she laughed.
“well, you were one cute waiter at that,” she stated seductively.
he smiled with his lips pushing into his mouth a little bit.
“thanks for everything. the couch, the advil, the talk. maybe you should see me another time. i play at bars all around the city. i’d love to see more pretty girls come around and hype me up once in a while.” his grin turned into a beam.
“no problem, i suppose i would like to spend some time around people who are rich and aren’t fun sponges,” she joked effortlessly.
“i can be sometimes.” her little giggles poured out of her mouth.
“well, i’ll see you around. hit those drums!” she called out to him as his uber arrived.
“sure thing!” he waved as he entered the car.
and for the first time in forever, his heart caused him to feel more emotions than his wicked hangover.
Jul 11, 2022
Jul 11, 2022 at 11:43 AM UTC
As I sit here reminiscing about my life, Knife in hand, I just ask myself as to how I’ve gotten as far as I have. Twenty years old and so absent of life. I have never had a partner nor friends, or any kind of near and dear human interaction for that matter.
I was raised in foster care from the age of nine.
When I was seven, my mother was tethered to a life support machine.
At the age of nine, my father, fragile and weak committed suicide.
The note went something like this:
“I know you may never understand and I’m not sorry, but you may thank me some day…”
I never understood the message until now, sitting here, slicing into the tender skin within the confines of my hand looking over the horizon.
A gentle drip follows…
I’m glad my father did what he did…
I’ve been taught and invaluable lesson…
That the human soul, albeit intangible, is not infallible.
The same holds true for the will.
Both have yet to be seen much less heard, by a being that breathes the same air as you and I, foolishly we continue to live our lives and ignore these facts so we may keep faith that they exist.
A cool sensation begins to overwhelm me...
Perhaps their intangibility is what has kept them pure and free of human kinds’ seemingly instinctual want to poke, **** and risk possibly destroying something they do not understand until it is understood…
I mean let’s take a look at love.
Love, likewise to the will and the soul is also intangible.
What would love be if you can do what I have done to this very moment and take a sharpened steel blade and tear beneath the skin to understand what truly lies below it surface.
Sep 12, 2021
Sep 12, 2021 at 7:13 AM UTC
“I don't think I could ever write anything again. Maybe I can write about you?” I carefully peeked through the book I was reading just to barely see a couple emotions passed by your beautiful face while you watched television. Then, before you'd even meet my eyes, I have went back into reading the book you've recommended me on one hot afternoon during our chat in telegram. “Don't just focus about me. As I've told you before you are a great writer and everything you make will always be beautiful no matter the subject.” The tone of your voice sounded as firm as your belief like always and even at the face of uncertainty towards my writing career, it made me smile no less. ‘You never come short of giving me the boost I needed.’ I have finally set the book down after I confessed to my woes and just like when you knew there was something that bothered me before we went to bed, your slender fingers have found their way to my face and gently nestled there. “I know what you're capable of and I believe in your talent. I am always a fan of your works.” I felt like a kid under your warm gaze that I easily melt further inside when you planted a soft kiss on my forehead. I chuckled though, right after I saw your adorable puckered lips which was the sign that I must return your little gift. So, with my full height towering over, I pulled you in a brief but sweet kiss.
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 1:28 PM UTC
As I walked into the bar there were already tears in my eyes. So much stress. Was I meandering or chasing my tail? I wasn't finding answers, that's for sure. I glanced around, struck with a subtle sense of irony. A few sorry souls sat speckled throughout the dimly lit confines of this stuffy, run down establishment. You'd think they'd have the means to keep a place like this in ship shape, here, considering the nature of spirit. Anything you could imagine, freely given, when the soul should rise... Maybe it was just a load of **** I took a seat in a corner at the far side of the room. I didn't know how I'd arrived here, but I had no intention of leaving. I was too exhausted. Life had had a tendency to beat me down. I felt battered and bruised. I felt as if I'd been flattened by a steam roller. I always used to say I was tired to my soul; I hadn't realized I was speaking literally. It wasn't long before I was approached by a waiter. All dressed in white, save for a black tie. An amorphous effusion of light and shadow erupting from the place where one's neck should be. A piercing whisper, vibrating through my skull.
"Can I get you a drink?" it.. said.
I was a bit dumbfounded. It hadn't occurred to me until now that this place may actually serve alcohol. Did I even have a body? Regardless, I don't drink.
"I don't drink."
The haze blobbed and bobbed, and ebbed in mirrored tension, as if shaking its head from side to side.
"I think you'll want to try this one." It echoed, sing-songing slow motion distortions directly into the depths of my consciousness.
It was becoming hard to focus. The lines here were, or, are gray. Things bleed between. Every soft, dim light consumed the room. Every noise resounded throughout time. This ideal of a bar, this place where people drink their woes away, stowed away in the afterlife? What must people be trying to forget?
"I don't want to forget." I said. "I learned so much in life. Still, I know nothing. Still I don't understand, but I want to hold onto those lessons. I've left everything else behind."
"I think you'll want to try this one," it reiterated. "Daniel."
It hit me, then. This thing knew all there was to know about me. Not only could it speak into my mind, it could see. This was no ordinary drink, and after all, what did I have to lose?
**** it," I took the glass from the tray. "I guess I could use a drink."
It looked like nothing more than a shot glass full of water, but as it went down my throat, an unearthly warmth and peace spread through my chest cavity and into my heart. It was the ultimate feeling of pure joy, as if I'd consumed a liquified sun. With my first breath, it made its way into my brain. Stark white, endless plains of emptiness and light. Everything dissolved before my eyes. Cascading was illusion: is illusion. I hovered in the pulse of the everflow.
"How was the drink?"
I needn't even respond. I was awake.
"Ahhh!" I released relief, and let the spirit seep.
I merged with this, the Infinite. The song of Heaven, I could hear it. Vibrations of eternity surrounding me, and written throughout everything, the lyrics. All different pitch of perfect wave, resounding to fragment the quintessence of this presence to which I now belonged. Yet, this energy condenses. Readministered, from essence to presence. A blip within the static of magic. Eye could not exist, in reminiscent wishes, avasting existence. The depth within the deep of endless ocean called to me: to stimulate emotion in the impartation of separation from Infinity. The pull of gravity consumed me. Here, again, within the fill of fragrant, illusory "being," I live to speak of bleeding into everything and nothing.
Mar 10, 2021
Mar 10, 2021 at 12:34 AM UTC
“How do you feel?” I ask again. I, knowing the answer, poke my head into the lion's den. I feel the ghost of your frustrations floating about in the confined space. It haunts the room as our shadows strangle each other.
“What is the opposite of homesick?“ You ask.
“Homesick, ” I answer.
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 2:00 PM UTC
As we sat in the car and the sun declined, the world turned to a peach hue and dimmed. The pouring rain from not only an hour before still felt as if it lingered in the air, sticking to my skin. A car joined us in the parking lot and started staring to the East, we both turned our gaze to align with theirs and saw a perfect rainbow accompanied by a faded second. And as we sat there and reflected on the topic of the human perseption of light, I found a moment to ask, "Can I kiss you so we can remember this moment forever?"
They replied, "of course".
Aug 10, 2020
Aug 10, 2020 at 4:05 PM UTC
What is seen is temporary
What is unseen is eternal
I live on borrowed time
but I will gladly spend it with you
My days are numbered
but I will gladly count it with you
Aug 5, 2020
Aug 5, 2020 at 12:34 PM UTC
It was dark, it was lonely
It was quiet, it was empty
My heart cried out
But nothing, not even an echo returned an answer
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 8:41 AM UTC
***
***
My King,
I am light in the shade, and no slave to sin.
The charges upon me and mine name are false,
but naught can be done as you have decreed that
my kith and kin be stripped of their birthrights
and slain...
My grief knows no bounds to the injustice,
but the only assurance is that I will reunite
with them once I am free from the bonds
of this mortal coil.
The world of women is harsh and hard,
even more so as we tend to our gardens.
to be fragrant for you. To be fresh for you.
To be righteous. For you.
We are sold to carry our family names
on our shoulders and dragonseeds on our
backs.
All while living in a luxuriously guilded cage.
I am a one of many flowers you so tenderly,
proudly plucked and yet,
I am left drowning in nothing but
cold tears and everything I am scattered
to the wailing wind and raging rain.
As I take my leave of this world,
I pray you shall be of great health
and live for ten thousand years more.
You came into the world under the wings
of a storm of destiny
When the winds howled
and the seas roared
As the people paid sacrifices
to the Gods to still their rage.
Only with your loud cries did the storms
pass away and then all things became light.
The passion we once shared bore sweet fruit,
to our dear Second Prince who is carved
in your image.
He is me and he is you and he is he,
a son of the God who walks this earth.
You say you hold the Mandate of Heaven
in your claws, and all you do is mourn that
wretched sour flower with such affection,
not even seeing how my love withers in
the heart of your golden palms?
Do you truly believe that Meihua is without fault?
Without sin?
She only remained so white and youthful
because she bathed in the blood of those
she so willingly, wilfully, wrongfully spilt,
yet all you see is her aura of eternal
spring flowers?
...How I pity you...
Under her gaze was the guile far more
venomous than any krait.
I only wished for you to see the truth,
to tear her hypocritical mask of
innocence, and be your ***** friend.
As I still do!
But I see now that all my cries, my pain
our love, our history have fallen on mute ears...
I love and loved so fiercely.
I love and loved so purely.
And with the Gods as my witness,
as foolish as it may be, I love you still!
I kept myself clean from the touch
of man and have been naught but
a loyal, patient and caring wife to you
and our brood.
Meihua truly has you bewitched and
has bested me and my sisters, as she is so fang-deep
in your heart. Seeing how you will not accept
the truth, I pray that one day that it is seen.
My only wish is that you spare our child
and that he tastes only sweetness in this harsh life.
I commend my soul to the Gods,
devote my life to the stars...
And leave my heavy heart and memory
on the foot of your conscience.
For those who spill the blood of an
anointed line will see the karmatic deliverance
And not even you can halt what you
have long since set in motions.
I have resigned myself to it all.
Let the vipers lay claim to my titles,
my riches, my lands, my position,
but they will never pry the crown from my
hand nor the heat from my heart.
I will be watching all from the Gates of Death.
I have been wronged, so very wronged...
The wine of gold silkworms shall be the greatest
of comforts.
For that is sweet.
And you.
YOU are the poison which I refuse to
consume again...
Yours once and never again,
Yuyan***
***
Jun 27, 2020
Jun 27, 2020 at 12:25 PM UTC