Our smiles are in sync. Your coffee’s already half-drunk, mine untouched since it arrived. You’re saying something about bikes and how they’re two-tired, and to you it’s the funniest thing in the world. Your pearly whites are showing with that big laugh, and I can’t help but laugh too – for how bizarre is it that I, alone, can look at the sun right in front of me?
Arduous to find when lost
As rare as a four-leafed clover
But if it happens then
I would seek you again
Once more, and ten times over.
Your left hand holds the pencil tightly, while your right twirls through your smooth, jet-black hair. You keep complaining that it’s getting longer, that you need a trim and it would probably cost a lot; but I love the way it’s starting to grow barely over your eyes.
I bump into the table by accident.
“Sorry,” I whisper, but you don’t seem to mind.
Even if it caused you to lose your grip and scratch an ugly line through the numbers you just calculated. Your eyes have been fixated on the same problem for who knows how long, leaving no room for anything other than focus. In your calmness, I let you be.
If cats have nine lives
Why don’t humans do too?
Never are we too weak
Nor passive, or meek
For a purpose which we can make ado.
Autumn is approaching. The leaves of sugar maples and sweet gums begin to color the brown barks, decorating the busy streets with orange and pink hues. Sunlight glistens ever so softly through the gaps in the trees, bouncing off every drop of fallen rain.
A strong gust of wind passes through us. It makes your scarf ruffle and blows your train ticket out of your hands. I giggle as I watch you frantically chase for it, one hand holding your beanie in place while you run with the breeze to retrieve it. I trail not too far behind, a perfect view of the flying ticket and a panicked boy. You’ll get it back eventually, I thought.
The clocks are chiming by the hour
Its hands start to move like mine
One turned to eight
Were we light years too late?
Forgive me, my watch didn’t tell me the time.
We’re probably the worst dancers to ever exist, but that didn’t stop you from busting down your favorite (albeit traumatizing to some) moves. I try to dial it down, evidently shyer, and more self-conscious about how I look than you. It reminds me of how much I envy you, for your simple ability to express yourself without fear of what others might think.
You seem to notice my sudden glumness.
‘Wanna get out of here?’ you ask, but you didn’t even have to.
I strike you a smile and grab your hand with no hesitation, and before we know it I’m pulling us both through the waves of people, looking and hoping to find a way out, wherever that may be – anywhere would be better, as long as my nowhere is with you.
How deeply and strongly I hoped
Down from hell or up from heaven
Till' the stars fade away
And my colors start to gray
That you'd be my lucky number seven.
It’s almost four in the morning. The rain is pouring mercilessly down upon us. We’re shielded merely by your gray jacket held above our heads, barely keeping us dry at all. I tell you, only half seriously, that we should have checked the weather forecast before deciding to go on a walk at this ungodly hour. Some nerve you have to snicker!
Although the freezing water feels like ice on my skin, you’re as warm as one can be, and I’m just left to wonder why I’m still cold.
Seas and skies lie between us
Worlds so divided that no promise can fix
When you’re bound to burn
To whom do you turn
When there’s nobody to watch your six?
You never cry. Yet today your tears shyly stain your cheeks – a result of a weeping heart.
“It’s okay,” I try to whisper, a futile attempt to soothe your worries. “It’ll be alright…”
A hand reaches out to hold your shaking shoulders. But it isn’t mine. Another hand softly caresses your face, lifting your head out of your palms. And soon you’re looking right into a pair of big, kind eyes, golden as perfectly roasted hazelnuts. But they aren’t mine either.
I watch as my heart trembles, as it looks at what it’s already seen but chosen to deny.
You couldn’t hear me this whole time, could you?
Fellow phantoms await me
They tell me it’s time to take five
As I take off my mask
‘Do you shiver?’ I ask
No longer in pain, but no longer alive.
Winter comes like a thief in the night. A storm of white engulfs the city, burying any leaves that’ve been left by fall in a solemn farewell. Roads are blocked, and everyone is home.
You’re snuggled up in a yellow knitted blanket, wool socks on your feet and an ugly jumper fit snug to your body. She brings you a cup of hot cocoa, less sugar. She takes a sip to taste before handing it to you, and you throw your head back in laughter as you see her foamy chocolate mustache. My heart tightens, but I can’t help but crack the tiniest smile, again.
I didn’t know you stopped drinking coffee.
The heart is a sword
It can make peace, it can make war
Don’t leave it unsheathed
Don’t feel, just breathe
One, two, three, four.
She’s just standing still, but her dress flows like midnight mist, like light snow down a mountaintop. Cream-colored roses held tight and close, waiting to be relinquished by their bearer into the hands of another. Her eyes twinkle when they meet yours, gentle.
I wish I hated how she looked like an angel.
They say there’s no difference
Between a broken heart and a gun
And I wish I hated the sun.
It could kill who it loathes
Or it could kill us both
“I do.”
But today, it killed just one.