Six-word Story: Wrinkled

I kissed his wrinkled hand goodbye.

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See You Again

I stare at the journal resting in my clammy and trembling hands, couldn’t summon to look in her pained eyes as guilt hits me with promises that never come to reality. Standing right now with her, at the cottage near the end of a beach boardwalk where together we smiled, laughed and shared our darkest secrets, she seems away from me—facing further in the sea. Then she turns—blank from the hints of her emotions. I pause for a moment, trying to gather words that could fit. I have no right to keep her long for nothing.
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A Noble Pursuit

Love me baby

your gentle touch.

I crave for it

every second

of everyday.

Whisper to me

how you want it,

want it badly.

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The Fallen Light (Part 2)

I’m not nervous, nor confident. If there’s one emotion that dominates my wholeness is that I’m afraid. I’m afraid of rejection, although rejection might be the best forgiveness the mighty could give me. I’m afraid of this world. All my beliefs seem to vanish far from the horizon. It devastates me most that my only anchor to strength is now next to nothing I know – oblivion. By mostly, I’m afraid of myself.

Continue reading “The Fallen Light (Part 2)”

The Last in Utopia

A hand,
Generously given out
By a man
Whose face I could not see,
Not clearly,
For the bright sun
Silhouetted him
As if swallowing up his whole.

 

Who, equipped with a common soul,
Would dare and do so,
Amid catastrophe and hopes drowning low—
So low no one would bother and plunge down.
Illumination unseen by many eyes,
Amusement that cannot be found,
Hearts soaked up where fear lies.

But this time,
He chose to arrive.
Not in a fancy way,
But in a walk blends with the dirt,
The mud,
And the hurt.
A power greater than any tremors,
Waves and fire combined
Blew up to shaken our only earth and life.

Looking around,
The lifeless scattered,
Held,
Caressed by those who love,
Those who will love,
Those who cannot love.
I was but a slumped body
In the unvalued land.
Panting,
Trembling,
Asking
Whether this a dream or not.
If it is, then wake me up.
But I soon reckon it’s not.

He, the impossible,
Has stood in front of me—
Me, among other class—
Holding his hand out.
Trembling,
Panting,
But asking no more.
I reach for it,
Carefully,
Slowly standing up from the slump
Away from the dirt,
The mud and the hurt
And called out to fellow
All will be unharmed.

Continue reading “The Last in Utopia”

Weary Knight

‘Hi’, you said
slyly yet unyielding voice
I have never heard.
Deterred,
couldn’t find my own words
but I smiled anyway.
Then suddenly,
it was eight years ago
when all was innocence
and bliss. Continue reading “Weary Knight”