Past and Present. 

Can you touch me and think of her?Can you let my words slip by as she whispers secrets into your ear? 

Can you look at my face and see her eyes, even though mine are scarred and hers 20/20? 

Can you hold my strong and stubborn body with your skin only remembering how her softness, her small bones and her tanned skin knitted with yours perfectly?

“You two are the same. Similar in so many ways. Differences only in looks.” 


She is just past, 

And I, the present. 
But does it matter when the shadows are always there as long as the sun shines? 


What is it like?

Pretending to love someone when dreaming of another. 


Dance In The Dark. 

We have endings just to gain new beginnings. And ugliness do exist, that is no lie. 

I can see the poetry in things that I do not like. 

And wonderful things do die. 

Human faces are made for hide and seek. 

But darkness shows the twinkle in your eye. 

Dance in the rain only in the dark. 

And I hear that silent sigh. 

Promises make or break, hope lights or blinds, 

And there are bittersweet miracles in a single goodbye. 


Who knew trying to explain the self can be such a draining task? 

Who placed the names to emotions and thoughts to writing, hoping for understanding? 

Who would have thought that looking at bright red cabinet doors can still make you feel like crying if you are sad enough? 

Who ate the family of poisonous mushrooms by the roadside that I was reserving for myself? 

Who can take this careful heart and gently unknot it so that it can finally breathe? 


It has been tiring. 

What’s new anymore? I always come to this space to say that word. 


Such a soft word. No pressure on the mouth to whisper it or spit it out. Laced with subtle melancholy, before falling back into the shadows. 

Speaking of shadows and eight-hour darkness and the blacks-and-blues, I do not like to pick fights and try to avoid the confrontational approach as much as I can. 

If you think I enjoy drawing blood, then maybe you never knew me right from the moment you said, “hello.”

Maybe I am too big an Universe for you under thin skin and stubborn bones. 

Pause. Breathe. Swallow. 

I am speaking from the heart, and not with sarcasm, defence mechanisms and shameless facades. 

I do that a lot. 

I hide to survive; to know who to trust and avoid the temporary spirits. 

And that makes me wonder who I really am if I peeled off all these layers and stood under the Sun. 


I have almost everything in order, except matters of the heart. And that’s the most painful part. 

May the Moon cradle me for long nights. 


Recognising the face – Same small eyes and same sealed lips. 

Beauty spots still all in place; not a new or old one out of the constellations of his smooth skin. 

Maybe the chin became sharper and the cheekbones higher. 

Did he always look like that when he doesn’t smile? 

I used to love it when he smiles. 

Recognising the arms and the frame of his lean body.

It was just ten years ago when I leaned my small face on his shoulder.

Realising our heights made the fit almost perfect;

Young and awkward but comfortable. 

I wonder if it would still feel the same now or if he has grown taller. 

I cannot tell while standing right next to him on the bus; 

So near yet one pole apart. 

Our eyes do not meet anymore. 

Even if it is a glance, we meet walls and not souls. 

No longer recognising his spirit or,

The once passionate heart he would share with me.

So candidly through primary school stories of lost pencils and eraser fights, 

Or sharing one water bottle after late night classes of tae kwon do on the basketball court. 

Bruised legs crossed and swatting mosquitoes out of sight. 

I wonder if you would respond if I called your name. 

Would I see that little boy turn with his arms wide open, or would he be like the younger me?

No longer there anymore. 

Tiptoeing Along the Line. 

Is this a place where I can fly? 

Is this the land of peaceful sleep and wholesome rest? 

Is this the sand of timelessness and the unpolluted? 

Is this the mirror where I look in and become a different person each time? 

Or is this a place where I am always grounded? 

Is this the land of sleeplessness and fragmented rest? 

Is this the sand of running clocks and the polluted? 

Is this the mirror where I look in and seem the same day after day? 


I can no longer tell when I am just dreaming or awake. 

The two worlds seem to merge every night after eyes close and the heart quietens. My body obeys what I dream and I awake every hour or so to look around the room: messy unpacked bags from the big move, my unmoved schoolbag and a brother sound asleep above. 

Just to convince myself that I am safe. 

I am here. 

It has been tiresome nights and I am no longer a believer of deserving rest. All I feel is betrayal of the mind and body as my heart gets sore and weak. 

And the part that scares me the most is that I do not have the answer to what is happening to me. 

Tiredness or just going a bit mad? 

Mild Breakdown. 

First, the eyes start to sting. 

Then your nose feels tight at the bridge and it gets harder to breathe. 

You lick your lips a couple of times, but it keeps getting a bit too dry. 

Your head starts to hurt a little bit and the ears start to burn up. 

(Not again.)

Subconsciously pick at the dead skin of your young fingers. 

Pop the tiny pimples on your cheeks and aggressively get rid of the lost tears. 

Your mind spaces out or gets crammed up with too many thoughts all at once, and the heart just cracks. 

A centimetre at a time. 

(It’s just a phase. It’ll pass.)

A centimetre.