my mind is an eraser for the horizon.

I used to sit on windowsills, taking in the turqoise blue of the skies, the way the leaves and wings cut through the marshmallow clouds. It was diaster arranged on pretty, expensive cutlery. But even seated on the top of the tallest tree, I could never taste it. My tongue aches from streching, my taste buds long for that sting, a reason for misery.




i. She walked on the other side of the road, making my neck ache to look at her eyes, her face directed towards the ground, the tar slowly melting beneath every crystal tear that fell. Wheels creaked beside me, the spokes and dissolving tar metaphors for everything between us, that unconquerable distance between any two hearts linked by life's prettier paths.

ii. His eyes are that pretty shade of brown you'll find nowhere else. You could cut through his chest, shatter his ribs, turn off his source, darken his glow, drain every last speck of brown from his eyes, and he'd still shine. His beauty comes from a place far beyond anything in this world. His light is the light of the stars, you'll only see it if you turn off yours. And it wouldn't matter, because his light is all the illumination you'll ever need. But could he survive without yours?

iii. Her first step that morning pierced her skin, last night's glass pieces sprayed across the floor and her hair still damp from resting on wet pillows. He'd wake up hours from then, and roll across dry sheets, his breath still laced with alcohol and the remnants of the words spat at her the previous night. Hours from then, when water flows down his wrinkled skin, he'd believe he's cleansing himself, he'd convince himself that cologne can cover up the stench of addiction and lies. And he'd put his arms around her waist again, and whisper sweet nothings. And I'd laugh again. Because nothing is all they'll ever be.




The faster you go, the faster the wind blows. The tighter you close your eyes, the darker it gets. You are as innocent as your conscience tells you you are. How then can you not judge yourself? How then can you not taste your creations? Should you not abosorb everything around you? Should you not feel? Then again, how can you embrace misery when you're still numb from the past?
Time sure knows how to play hard to get.