(i) I don’t know how to stop being afraid, How to stop allowing fear to consume the cracks Of the place, we call home I’m afraid one day, They will crumble the walls that keep us safe (ii) I don’t know how to love you Not quite in the way that I think you deserve…
Tag: love
Tea or Coffee? Both.
Today, in this very brief yet very important (only because it contributes to my procrastination before midterms) post, I am going to tell you something about myself that any guy or girl that wants to me take me out on a date should know (not that there are many of you). Todays world is constantly…
Confessions
I have a confession to make, I am a hoarder. Of books that smell like they landed on my doorstep after years of collecting stories from people I will never know. Of memories that scream at me from rooftops, telling me that sometimes, I remember you with more fondness than I did when you were…
To the woman who finds her heart in empty alleys and broken doorways too often;
To the woman who finds her heart in empty alleys and broken doorways too often; i. When men tell you that they want to wrap their drunken slurs around your fragile body. Tell them that you are no ones present or dream. You are a warrior. A hopeless romantic slaying the dragons of pseudo relationships…
Excerpts from Unsent Letters and Unfinished Thoughts
“The past few days have been nothing short of mundane and dull. I’ve been stuck in the hospital for fourteen days and I’m not getting any better, my dad says that it’s still a good thing because I’m not really getting worse either. My body is just stagnant. There’s only so many movies one can…
Diaries of an alcoholic
People can start to feel like a distant memory; folded away between an old copy of wuthering heights. You know the kind. They start to resemble drunken nights, The events of the past begin to shape-shift into distorted images and blurs. Only sometimes, you don’t want to wake up with no recollection of what went…
02 November 2017;
On an eerie winter morning, a child tiptoed his way to my lost self, he perched himself beside me on a lone park bench. He seemed to be five or six years old at most as he peered into the book before continuing, “What colour is the sky?” He asks with such innocence that it…
On being back and missing home;
For the past fifty days, I have been asked on various occasions what my one year in Belgium was like, what it was worth, what it did and how it felt to be back. I have been scratching my head since well before my departure from the Brussels international airport as to how I would…
Day 310- A Trip to Waterloo
Present day Waterloo, is nothing but low lying lush green hills that leave almost no trace of the battlefield that they lay on. They are the subtle screams of canons and gunfire echoing through empty lands that still remember the bloodshed they hide beneath the smell of fresh grass. When I relive history in Waterloo,…
Day 297- The woman at the old age home
There is a woman at the old age home. Her eyes glimmer of the history she’s witnessed in her long years here on earth. Her wrinkles remind me of constellations, connected in a magnificent display of wisdom. Her hands are always shaky. No matter how much I hold on to them, warming her skin against…
A Veil of Innocence 