Night falls and the stars rise.

The warm dusk fades into dark, a single seamless brushstroke. The air is chilly and crisp now, just a hint of soft caramel wafting through.

In my mind, you are standing in the centre of the chaos, though perhaps that is only a reconstruction.

The night seems to fade out from you, as though you’ve leeched the colours of this world and captured it within your soul.

The night mist billows around, making you seem as though you stand among the clouds.

The light you cast flutters like a moth, extending its warm silken glow to the chosen few upon which it falls. 

 If this world were a kaleidoscope, you would be the momentary confluence of the reflections, the point at which everything ends and begins. 

When my eyes catch on you, this muddled life settles into place, like a lens coming into focus, pieces of a puzzle that finally click. 

You are the apex of my sphere, the cornerstone of my being. Underneath your gaze, I am grounded, yet flying; shackled, yet free.

You are the echo of a tune that I have never heard, and it both bewilders and enchants me. You are the fleeting recollection of my dreams: fading, fading, as I scramble to imprint it into memory.  

You are the only thing I crave, the sole want of my life.

So take my hand, and I promise you art. You will be the canvas of my prose. I’ll dip my pen into the ink of your eyes, and engrave myself onto your heart. 

Let me take your breath away with the heat of my passion. I want to taste that infinite second between life and death before I breathe air back into you.

Let me plant a smatter of kisses within the most intimate chambers of your soul. I’ll watch them bruise and bloom with the flush of desire. 

Let me stop your heartbeat with a flick of my hand and hold- waiting a moment too long- before blood whooshes back into your aching veins.

Let me squeeze my fingers around your throat, and gaze into your eyes as their lustre fades. The light that you once clasped would leak out from you, and gush into me. 

I’ll press a single finger to the kaleidoscope of your world and watch the delicate glass crack, a spiderweb of a fissure making its way across your life.

I’ll watch your world slowly crumble, tremors advancing inwards, until there is nothing left. But you. 

You are clasped in the palm of my hand; I am the only air you can breathe, the only stimulus for your heartbeat. 

I am the only light in your eyes, the only voice that will soothe your cries. 

My blood mingling with yours, we are one flesh, one world. Mi casa es tu casa. And what is yours is mine also. 

You are stripped away, of everything that once shielded you.

No light.

No colour.

Only You.


Photo by Jilbert Ebrahimi on Unsplash


Fall to Power

Whatever we did, we did for power.

Money. Love. Beauty. Respect. Family.

Power to control, to seduce, to create, to morph.

Science to control our surroundings, psychology to control ourselves. Society to control our world.

Everything you could have possibly yearned for, anything you could want, in the end, was merely a tireless quest for dominance.

It sounds vain, even as I think it. To reduce the entire of our lives, all our hopes, our dreams, our drive, as they would say, to one pathetic power-play.

But to be vain itself is a power, to have the power to be vain, to be selfish, to think only of oneself. A luxury. How we wasted it.

Don’t be like that, they would tell us. Serve. Adapt. Fulfil. 

Be selfless, sans the self, shrink yourself, smaller, smaller, until you no longer exist.

How can you want when you are not in being?

You are content, they told you. Happy. This is what happiness feels like.

How were we to know?

It’s why we fell in the end, I think to myself.

Because there was that ‘more’ lingering in the air, more power over the other person, loved more, respected more.

Big words like ‘unconditionally‘ and ‘forever‘ thrown about, disrupting the balance.

When we fought over the TV remote, the restaurants, who paid the bill, who fed the cat, who took out the trash. Hands flying, head shaking, dishevelled, letting loose, words spewing out of red lipstick, I remember, there was so much red towards the end.

How trivial, we thought, how mundane.

In the end, it was those little things that did it.

We laughed about it afterwards, of course, hands clutched together, eyes smiling, mingled sighs and half-hearted apologies.

But the more was still in the air, whispering, scheming.

They say that when you go deaf, it starts off as just a small humming in your ears. And then day after day, night after night, it slowly drowns out the world around you, until it’s all you can hear.

That was what it was like, this ‘more‘. It was like going deaf, deaf to what you have, right before you. More, more, more. 

When we pretended we didn’t care, hurting, hurting so much, battered, broken, tired, oh-so-tired. That was about power too.

Apathy. Ignorance. The less you care, the better. The less you know, the less you care. Close your eyes, go in blind, go in deaf, more, more, more.

We craved the imbalance and we paid for it. The scales finally tilted. We fell.

In the end, we fell, falling, falling, was that power?

Was I happy, then?

I can’t remember.

The fall was a grey blur, a single whoosh, a rush of blood to the head, passion, lust, rage, hunger, us gasping for breath, breathless.

It was breathtaking, as they would say.

That’s not always a good thing.

Photo by Yessica Villalobos on Unsplash