"struck" poems
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
311.4k
Everyone is scared of Death.
I'm petrified of Death.
But am I scared to die?
No,
no, I am not. I welcome the end with open arms.
At night I shudder under my blanket
dreaming of the paths that Death leaves
in its wake.
In the darkness of my room with thunderstorms inside my head,
I fear the hole that is left
after Death has struck.
I wonder what,
who, might come out of it:
**Depression, Mourning, Sorrow, Confusion, Emptiness,
and even more Death.**
I miss the good old days
when Life could be as easy as
going to bed at night worrying
about what Pokemon version to get,
how to get the latest game console,
what skill in basketball I need to improve in,
when my parents will find out I had an infraction,
how the test next day will go.
But it's funny, Life,
the more you grow in it
the more you approach Death.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
***** ***** I **** *****
***** get ****** when I **** *****
No ifs, ands, and/or buts!
I **** ***** I **** *****
Nice girls are nice, but no good for nut-sucking.
They'll need a serene night to green-light a butt-fucking,
but that'll be easy with ****** ol' slut-fucking!
Boo to the nice girls! Praise be to slut-fucking!
I have a list. A list? Yes, a list of all the ***** I've missed.
I've never ****** or ****** these ***** and thus my nuts are ******* ******
So when I **** the lucky **** my nut removes her from the list---
another dumb cumbucket struck from my nut-sucking,
**** it, **** slut-fucking bucket list.
***** can be white, brown, pink, or almond.
They can be skinny with big **** or skinny with small ones.
***** can be perky, preppy, or posh,
with their brains and their clothes all shrunk from the wash.
But other ***** are pretty and funny and smart.
They can lift your thoughts from your **** to your heart.
They can talk about science, music, or art.
They can put you together or pull you apart.
But don't trust these ***** Don't! Don't you dare!
They'll force you to trust them and love them and care.
And then they'll be gone and then you'll be aware
of that hole in your heart that that dumb **** left there.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
for leather accrues
The miracle of the streets
The scents & smogs &
pollens of existence
Shiny blackness
so totally naked she was
Totally un-hung-up
We looked around
lights now on
Top see our fellow travellers
~~~
I am troubled
Immeasurably
By your eyes
I am struck
By the feather
of your soft
Reply
The sound of glass
Speaks quick
Disdain
And conceals
What your eyes fight
To explain
~~~
She looked so sad in sleep
Like a friendly hand
just out of reach
A candle stranded on
a beach
While the sun sinks low
an H-bomb in reverse
~~~
Everything human
is leaving
her face
Soon she will disappear
into the calm
vegetable
morass
Stay!
My Wild Love!
~~~
I get my best ideas when the
telephone rings & rings. It’s no fun
To feel like a fool-when your
baby’s gone. A new ax to my head:
Possession. I create my own sword
of Damascus. I’ve done nothing w/time.
A little tot prancing the boards playing
w/Revolution. When out there the
World awaits & abounds w/heavy gangs
of murderers & real madmen. Hanging
from windows as if to say: I’m bold-
do you love me? Just for tonight.
A One Night Stand. A dog howls & whines
at the glass sliding door (why can’t I
be in there?) A cat yowls. A car engine
revs & races against the grain- dry
rasping carbon protest. I put the book
down- & begin my own book.
Love for the fat girl.
When will SHE get here?
~~~
In the gloom
In the shady living room
where we lived & died
& laughed & cried
& the pride of our relationship
took hold that summer
What a trip
To hold your hand
& tell the cops
you’re not 16
no runaway
The wino left a little in
the old blue desert
bottle
Cattle skulls
the cliche of rats
who skim the trees
in search of fat
Hip children invade the grounds
& sleep in the wet grass
’til the dogs rush out
I’m going South!
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Burning fuel but not to leave,
boys circled town, came back
to the station where they began.
Gas exhaust drifted like spirits
above asphalt, dissolving in the night.
Girls stayed in the lot,
waiting for men old enough
to buy liquor, their names
claiming the land-
long after other names lay
buried in the ground.
They kept to the faces,
legs folded on hoods,
lip gloss catching the station lights,
bracelets chiming, hair flips rehearsed,
laughing at trucks circling back.
They wanted to be chosen, and I tried
to want that too- tried to be a girl among girls,
waiting for the moment some hand
would tug me out of the circle.
But my eyes kept straying-
across the street,
to the rise that was not just dirt
but a chest under earth,
ribs shifting,
a hum curling into my throat.
Something skeletal in its patience,
as if Baykok himself
were sharpening arrows in the dark,
waiting for breath to break.
Built long before us by Ojibwe,
still honored as sacred ground.
The others smoked, struck sparks,
sequins spilling from careless wrists,
never thinking how easily flame
might travel down, through us,
into what we couldn’t see.
I could hear bones shifting,
a buried drumbeat, the land’s own warning.
Every glance of the mound
pulled me back into silence.
It told me what the others
didn’t want to know-
that all this circling, waiting,
was only the lid of a grave.
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 12:02 AM UTC
During youth I was quite the collector
of ocean cretin's annealed sandcastles
Though the hosts inside could not be cheaper,
their fleshy coats were worth all the hassles
Content I was amassing worn seashells;
monthly did this fine collection accrue
Though furnished, barren felt those wooden shelves,
as even pearls are lesser than a jewel
Still, the sand was warm; the waves were soothful
and regardless of what hollowness struck,
the beach granted a chance to feel fruitful
so long as one had either skill or luck
Alone was I, but daresay not lonely,
but I was not merry until married.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 6:55 PM UTC
Don't try to hold my hand (because I'm a jellyfish)
Love is like lightning,
Beautiful from a distance,
But just wait till you're struck by it
Don't try to hold my hand (because I'm a jellyfish)
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC
Dear insecure, emotional, overthinking young man
you've come a long way from way back then
you've lost a lot - but had to realize "who hasn't?"
your strong will seemed to be mistaken a lot from your passion
you've missed out on a lot of love by second guessing & never unmasking
why weren't you truly ever satisfied... nah, that's the question that I'm asking...
your abandonment issues pushed away the potential of something ever lasting
constantly fighting the man in the mirror
hopefully with your new life - you see things clearer
no one ever knew, with you...who they were gonna get
you've missed out on a lot of good times wanting to talk
instead of just letting it go and enjoying the time you had left.
Your favorite pills were self pity, self indulgence, ignorance and regret
you never stopped to listen - stopped talking - hopefully now you allow others words to be said
no woman stood a chance... you purposely acted a certain way to avoid the possibility of true love
discretely pushing them away until they saw nothing and had enough.
don't get me started on your lack of living
missed out on a lot of trips, chances and opportunities
I hope now you've filled that void that is missing
you swore happiness was wealth... power...a line of respect
little did you know it was the little things; the calm, the moments
the people and things in life worth it and willing to invest.
you gave up on a few dreams... figured why fight?
countless times your mind would just run... keep you up all night
you were so afraid of success... honestly, I never knew why
you never freed that little boy trapped - stuck in his father's grasp
he was begging for freedom, you left him struck inside
everyday was another day you thought was your time.
**I hope you live now
I hope you see the beauty life truly is
I hope you found love
I hope you found this**
I needed to write this letter to you - so you can see how far you have come
you can see that change is real
you can see all that you have become
Bland Douglas Simpkins,
that's the man you should be proud to be
no matter what challenges you were faced with
those obstacles were needed, needed to make it to this me
thank those who've came into your life - not all were meant to last
some forced you left - others showed you right
no matter what, some were needed in your past.
So...
Dear future self,
please understand - I'm sorry. For all that I put you through
the truth remains - that without me - just know...
there would be no you.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 7:14 PM UTC
A strange weather pattern
Appears up in the sky,
And a strange sludge splatters
Into onlooking eyes.
Menstrual matter falls
From the great godless clouds,
The people struck with awe
As they run, scream alloud.
A trickle turned downpour
Of radiated blood,
Now drowning in a storm
That yields a *** flood.
Dropping violently in pints, gallons, and leagues
We become fossils under a ************ sea.
Jul 3, 2010
Jul 3, 2010 at 6:50 PM UTC
#*Nightbird perches high
beneath the shooting stars
that dapple the bouquet
of sleepless peace
... his soft downy breast
has lent breath
to the sweet April afterglow
heaving with song
The mystical feathered troubadour's
swooning echo
A melodic twilight serenade
conjures a moonstruck metamorphosis,
sprouting magical wings of flight;*
rousing *a lonely heart's esprit
to fly away unfettered
in constellations of song
How dare imaginings spilled from the big dipper
enchant such an enrapturing magic spell?
It's so far to fall from swinging on a star!
It's so far beyond nearing crescent moon
when you wish upon a star
Thereupon struck by a bewitching bolt of starlight;
Dropping asudden as a shooting-star!
Rolling like trailing thunder;
tucked and tumbling ―
somersaulting,
celestial rumbling
blossoming with an unearthly joy
A nascent winged heart splayed bare,
soars upon cresting wind waves;
dreaming of that shapeless
w h o o o o s h ―
gathering beneath
~ uplifting wings ~
Suddenly ― gliding freely,
winging gracefully
upon wafting star drift glitter;
lilting lightly upon the arising cadence
of nightingale's melodious fluted song
Nightingale sings sweet April perfume
beneath the star shed lamplight twinkle
... and it makes no difference if it's only a dream
if my heart had wings*
imagined by: Jesse Stillwater
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
threads of salt
drowned land
and sea
brisk on the shore
to the vine
of the tree
not fruit
not sweet
but
check beauty
check redolent
check dog named after
and sea urchin-robbed
the steps taken
through the pink
the sunken ships
the little women
with big hair
the jewelry that
weighed them down
to drown
drown
drown
the flower
floats like
a headstone
from the hand of
a daughter
to the mouth of
the sea
where God still
reigns
with a crooked shaft
and a helmet
long struck
by the sky
pink
the ocean loses its way
through the flowers
thorns and
all
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
Chewie hasn’t touched his food
I hope he’ll be o.k..
It hasn’t been the same for him
Since Leia passed away.
He’s a melancholy Wookie
as anyone can see.
He mopes around the ship all day
And he’s molting terribly
Twas bad enough when Obi-wan
was struck down by Darth Vader.
But it’s no surprise when an old man dies
That’s expected, now or later.
Our Princess was a force you see
Bringing gales of laughter
which is why we want her here
and not in the hereafter.
He’s a melancholy Wookie
as anyone can see.
He mopes around the ship all day
And he’s molting terribly.
I hope one day we’ll meet again
In Mos Eisley’s Cantina
That gold bikini may not fit
But we’d still be glad to see her.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC
(For Eric Killmonger)
A little boy stared in the clouds
Forgotten tales screaming loud
His word small and nothing wrong
It all shattered after too long
Stories of cities that touched the sky
Clans of people untouched by time
Hope soon filled his boyish dreams
But not everything was as it seemed
One night he came home and saw
His father dead, struck down by claw
Weeping over his fathers head
He begged him to stay, not leave him instead
Shattered dreams and shattered hopes
He held the myth achingly close
Alone, no one there to guide
He locked his humanity deep inside
Battling for a way to free them all
Seeking power and in deaths thrall
The world had taken everything away
And all in one single day
So he would take everything away from it
His soul a star no longer lit
Now he lay there quietly dying
His enemy close, no longer fighting
The world it seemed would take him too
His glittering eyes full of rue
There was nothing left for him here
Breathing ragged and full of fear
Finally he took his very last breath
And slipped away as his life left
And as the sun left the sky
The night descended with a sigh
The little boy was dead and gone
His life a sad and weary song.
-Roguesong-
-Esther L. Krenzin-
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 2:38 PM UTC
Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious april walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the birds' irregular babel
And the leaves' litter.
By this tumult afflicted, she
Observed her lover's gestures unbalance the air,
His gait stray uneven
Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower;
She judged petals in disarray,
The whole season, sloven.
How she longed for winter then! --
Scrupulously austere in its order
Of white and black
Ice and rock; each sentiment within border,
And heart's frosty discipline
Exact as a snowflake.
But here -- a burgeoning
Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits
Into ****** motley --
A treason not to be borne; let idiots
Reel giddy in bedlam spring:
She withdrew neatly.
And round her house she set
Such a barricade of barb and check
Against mutinous weather
As no mere insurgent man could hope to break
With curse, fist, threat
Or love, either.
19.1k
There was not a day that would pass with my usual routine.
Whether it would be going to the grocery, visiting my family, or maybe hanging out with my friends.
It seemed like everyday was pristine.
Life was quite a bore though,
But little did I know,
That you can actually find adventure in everything that you do.
When that realisation struck me, I felt my smile and aura glow.
What I am trying to say is that adventure is out there,
With everything that you do, even the little things.
As long as you have a mind that is set to explore the infinity and beyond,
Then you will definitely find a hidden treasure in everything.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC
I remember the rains that day,
A shower of hate that won’t go away,
The day seven of the year ninety four,
When pain suddenly opened the door,
And nothing was ever going to be the same anymore,
With machetes and guns they marched,
Aiming for our limbs to detach,
Sworn they did that no INYENZI would escape their grasp,
They swore that all would experience their wrath,
Genocide it was called but the truth not told,
The rains struck hard smell of rotting flesh,
Cries from a distance heard but ignored,
No one would even dare talk or whisper,
**** the cockroaches was the message from the speaker,
It was the rainy season the beginning of a massacre,
Women and children are alienated from their land,
Refugees in camps away from their land,
The African holocaust had began in Rwanda,
It took a while for the world to ponder,
The ones who had the power to stop it kept quiet,
They gave neither reason nor excuse for their silence,
They waited until we all lost our patience,
It was the rains in Rwanda the day of mourning,
It was the season to prepare for farming,
But I can bet the world saw it coming,
But none gave a **** from the beginning,
And so began the killing,
Brothers and sisters turned enemy,
Neighbors turned into strangers,
**** ****** mutilation humiliation torture,
Tribal hatred fueled by the west,
When will Africa come to rest?
And understand that we are one race,
One love one place one earth,
Let’s have love and peace,
BY ISSAI
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
She's an innocent little girl
Unknown about the people in this world
Who think it's a curse that she is born.
It's nothing to do with her but with her gender.
She has to suffer because she's her.
She grows up while listening to those painful words
By the voices of herds.
Those words which struck her like a bullet inside her heart
Now it's broken so much, it can't be mended even if we try hard.
This is not what she wants
But she's dumbfound like a mime,
Stuck inside, bounded by walls
Walking inside the empty halls.
She screams but no one hears
She wails but no one cares.
There's no one here who feels her pain anymore
As people ignore.
It's a curse that she is born even if she did nothing bad at all.
She has nothing else to do
But to dream about another universe,
Where people are one,
Where there's no boy or girl
That's what she thinks is a world.
But that's not true,
It's sad to say:
She is a curse in every way.
Why would they hurt such beauty and charm
When they do so,
She is so calm.
She has wings
Which are broken now
And it stings
If she tries to fly.
But still try,
You are not alone.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
this is my last and final goodbye
as I write this I think of the times you made me cry.
with your hurtful words
and your loving smile to others
the leather belt that struck my back and left the open wounds
the hot iron on my arm when I talked back
and the fist against my skull if I did something wrong.
love me, to mom
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
Are you struck with her figure and face?
How lucky you happened to meet
With none of the gossiping race,
Who dwell in this horrible street!
They of slanderous hints never tire;
I love to approve and commend,
And the lady you so much admire,
Is my very particular friend!
How charming she looks — her dark curls
Really float with a natural air;
And the beads might be taken for pearls,
That arc twined in that beautiful hair:
Then what tints her fair features o'erspread -
That she uses white paint some pretend;
But, believe me, she only wears red
She's my very particular friend!
Then her voice, how divine it appears
While carolling: "Rise gentle moon;"
Lord Crotchet lastnight stopped his ears,
And declared that she sung out of tune;
For my part, I think that her lay
Might to Malibran's sweetness pretend;
But people won't mind what I say —
I'm her very particular friend!
Then her writings — her exquisite rhyme
To posterity surely must reach;
(I wonder she finds so much time
With four little sisters to teach!)
A critic in Blackwood, indeed.
Abused the last poem she penned;
The article made my heart bleed —
She's my very particular friend!
Her brother dispatched with a sword,
His friend in a duel, last June;
And her cousin eloped from her lord,
With a handsome and whiskered dragoon:
Her father with duns is beset,
Yet continues to dash and to spend —
She's too good for so worthless a set —
She's my very particular friend!
All her chance of a portion is lost,
And I fear she'll be single for life;
Wise people will count up the cost
Of a gay and extravagant wife:
But tis odious to marry for pelf,
(Though the times are not likely to mend,)
She's a fortune besides in herself —
She's my very particular friend!
That she's somewhat sarcastic and pert,
It were useless and vain to deny;
She's a little too much of a flirt,
And a slattern when no one is by:
From her servants she constantly parts,
Before they have reached the year's end;
But her heart is the kindest of hearts —
She's my very particular friend!
Oh! never have pencil or pen,
A creature more exquisite traced;
That her style does not take with the men,
Proves a sad want of judgment and taste;
And if to the sketch I give now,
Some flattering touches I lend;
Do for partial affection allow —
She's my very particular friend!
15.3k
Anom o ly
Non-named, never imagined much less realized
The left hand can't know what the right is doing,
it's a brain matter, grey area, may be a way to
imagine your unique. task, yours, not doable from here
We can do things as us that we never imagine alone.
Is there a need to negate, wait, think,
must one do any act?
Now, I see, emulating Socrates is thought easier than
emulating Jesus. Christ, you know that ain't easy, eh?
Death is the friend of being. Things change from time to time
but, you know knowledge grows in two directions,
the dark part is not evil.
evil is as evil does. The roots that ever live in the earth,
those roots are required, requirements.
Left brain uses the right hand. Don't tell the left-hand
that nearly all it's skill in serving
and being used right,
is used up by the other side.
Right or wrong, is not a chiral question, nor is good or bad. ******** Phillips's head screws with a butter knife is wrong.
It can be done right, but not if you turn it the wrong way.
Drawing on the right side of my brain has always symbolized a crossroads experience, in my mind.
I mean I draw, realistically, with my right hand, left brain.
Maybe, brains are no easier to analyze than time in an immaterial medium of messaging.
I am certain life wins.
Meaning everything you think life means.
Do you think evil is required as an activity for life to actively be?
I doubt that.
Death fixes everything. Fret not. Wait.
First make room, what was the Bronte word? Penetrium, no, cut n paste
[A]t once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason - Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge.
From <https://www.etymonline.com/columns/post/cloud-of-uknowing>
Happiness demands an agreement
Joy is in process, I agree, I am happy, haps happen and I notice
Note: Bronte was one to tweak fine puns with the word Penetralia: 1. The innermost parts of a building, especially the sanctuary of a temple. 2. The most private or secret parts; recesses: the penetralia of the soul. See Chapter one, Wuthering Heights.
----- From
bronteblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/emilys-penetralium_03.html
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 12:12 AM UTC
What kind of crazy loyalty
Does my boyfriend have?
It just struck me yesterday
How loyal he must be.
To wait three months
For the girl who made you wait,
Though it was her fault?
That's loyalty.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
Off to Heaven tonight
Drifting in a beam of light
Rising up to the clouds on high
Upon golden wings I fly
I was dead from the very start
With panic did my eyes dart
I watched with heavenly agony
As your arrow pierced my heart
Melting away, my mind does flow
Taking with it your hand to hold
You didn't even give the onlookers a show
When love struck me down in one swift blow
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 12:00 AM UTC
When I saw her
The first woman with the first wide eyes
Bright and light and dark and deep
With life and mystery
My heart beat like the first hand struck the first drum
And the first song was sung
In dark caves of ten times ten thousand years ago
When I first breathed that first scent
My sight stopped
My mind stopped
My mind was my body and my hands and my gut
And my legs extending to the ground and the earth and time
And it slowed down like an ice age beginning
Then it melted into warm fire
Where it burned
The first touch of the first woman
Was electrical chemical radioactive bliss
Every piece of matter in me wanted to move and dance and shake and fly apart
The spark from the start of her heart beat
Crossed through the fibers and
Traveled down the pathways of her body
Down the chemical electric synapses
Through her arm and jumped across to my hand
And traveled up and started a new beat
It was a faster, and stronger beat
And it beat
And it beat
Like the first dance,
Shook with the slap and smack of ground and hands and feet
Oh the first woman was all women
And then there were other women
And they were people
Flesh and blood
And minds and thoughts
And feelings that I could not feel
Good and bad and indifferent
With hangups and problems
Blemishes and baggage
I met women coming
Women going
Here and there
Now and then
For coffee, for beer,
One evening or ten
I met scientists, nurses
bartenders and baristas.
Living lives I didn't mind
Giving time when it was mine
Asking for things I couldn't find
Then I saw You
All of you
In time and space and speed
I caught the scent of you
Your fragrance and perfume
And the primal musk of you
That fatal lusts allure
I felt you
The gravity of your body from across the room
Your electro-magnetic force pulling
Pressure of the displaced particles pushing
As you walked so slowly towards me
And time stopped
Light and sound and movement were captured
Captive to your hypnotic sway
Prisoner to your power over my perception
You moved through the still air
And it swept aside like a curtain as you passed
The world was quiet
And then it pounded
The pressure of it filled the air and everything around it
As you moved closer,
Like ride of the Valkyries
Rising and crashing in waves
It rose as you moved towards me
You carried it in your wake
And then it was a crescendo
A vast overpowering transcendent orchestral cacophony
Of immense intense sound and light and energy erupting
Cymbals crashed and horns blew and strings snapped under the pressure of the vibrations
Brilliant fireworks exploded in the black sky of your brown eyes
As you stopped a few feet from me
And time was stopped
You were the first woman
You were all women
You are
The only woman
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
*beneath the star-struck, eternal vast,
painted black, blue-grey black -
voices blister of the past.
haven't felt this way in quite some time.
the restless nights. this cold, empty bed.
unrhythmic breaths flood my chest
as I watch my mother die
for the second time.
it's moments like these you never forget.
find yourself waking in a cold, hot sweat.
mind tracing every syllable, every breath;
remembering every word you should have said.
with eyes like a beating heart;
smells of daisy wanderlust.
soul-fire like passion's spark;
worn-out smiles like last night's luck.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
“Strange place as if, a university campus. Last week of August, bit chilly though dark afternoon. Some random corridor seats. Surrounded by her loud chirps wrapped with unbidden happiness... and me still in some sort of shock... what am I doing here?
Conversation took toll about random university matters, she felt hungry and suggested to have lunch together. So we came out and took a bus towards town to allow ourselves luxury of 'A La Carte'. As we get off the bus cold wind struck us, “Lady shivered and grabbed my wrist with her right hand and same arm with her left, letting herself rest her right cheek on the edge of my left shoulder. My whole existence felt her magnetic presence”.
I uttered if she’s feeling cold she mumbled, I took it as a yes so wrapped my blue jacket around her. She responded to the gratitude with a smile and I allowed her grip on my arm to become more firm... so both of us kept on walking towards an undefined destination... and then my 7:00 am alarm interrupted the most beautiful dream i ever had since HER...”
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC