
I prefer detaching myself from where I am
Erasing the sharp edges of time and space
By concentrating on a screen or a book
And not looking at the clock
To take myself off this place and find my soul elsewhere
I prefer detaching myself from where I am
Erasing the sharp edges of time and space
By concentrating on a screen or a book
And not looking at the clock
To take myself off this place and find my soul elsewhere
this house is huge
filled with empty space
i can feel the rhythm of my heart
i can almost hear the echo of my breath
mom and dad
are out of town
my mind can’t stop wondering
if this is how dead our house would be
when they’re gone
on a one way ticket
to
the other side
i can’t bear the thought
my throat is clogged with a lump of tears
what is life
without mom sitting in the living room?
what is life
without dad’s loud laughter in the afternoon?
the house is so silent
so sad
parents are on the other side of the globe
my sister’s singing in her room
i’m all alone
it’s not even worth turning on the light
i wish i could say i have the sun of my soul
shining through the tunnel of this phase
but i can’t
because i don’t
just like this house
i’m so silent
i’m so sad
1265 days later.
Sometimes the pain of losing a loved one
Makes you feel closer to them
And sometimes it makes you feel
Lifetimes apart
Sometimes it flows through you and turns into art
Sometimes it freezes your blood
true missing doesn’t need time to be felt.
you feel it the moment the oxygen you breathe
is different from your beloved’s;
when the air doesn’t carry their scent;
when the room doesn’t sing to their presence.
a true reader
an avid admirer of words
would never claim a book to themselves
if it were the last one on the shelf
unless they knew they would appreciate it
just as much — if not more — as the other potential reader
it requires both boldness and gentleness
to buy the last copy of a book in a bookstore
some days
i enjoy solitude
amongst a room full of people
and other days
i need to be in a deafeningly soundless vacuum
to feel at home in my own being
either way
solitude is the oxygen i breathe
it was fleeting encounters with love
that softened my nails and
allowed my skin to heal
and fade away those
scars of my darkest
nights
i feel like i’m a bundle of dwindling potential
for i have all these ideas and all these dreams
without a single clue on how to go about
bringing them to life
i feel as though i am nothing but a shadow
of the life i could be creating for myself