Home with a Broken Heater

Sometimes I don’t know if I know love anymore.
Love feels like a familiar unfamiliar territory.
Love feels distant and cold.
Love doesn’t feel like home.


But then comes the unexpected play of string,
the light banters in the morning,
a smile that lights his face,
a giggle that warms my heart.


And I realize that love still feels like home.

Love is home.
One with an occasionally broken heater
that needs to be fixed with giggles, banters, patience, and care

every now and then.

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What would you do?

What would you do
if you get a cheat day?

One more day;
a chance to relive your last day.

What things would you do differently?
How many more memories would you make?

Would you let your loved ones know?
Would you slip in a silent goodbye with every kiss,
every hug,
every “I love you”?

Or would you push them away?
All so that you wouldn’t be a grenade
So you wouldn’t destroy them when you leave.

Would you try to change the fate?
Not give up without a fight?
Would you die fighting?

Or would you accept it to leave gracefully
as it is meant to be.
Let the people know that you love them
whisper in your goodbyes
with all the love and affection
you can pour out for them.

What would you do
if you get a cheat day?

 

Silence

What I Fear
is your Silence

How you choose to sit in all quietness rather than spill out
how you brush off your emotions ever so easily
And sleep with your heart still heavy

For now it’s bearable
For now I can hold you
Let your eyes and tightness of your embrace convey
What your lips never may

But what about when
all we have are words to hold us together
And you still choose to not speak.

Loop

We lay
like we have all the time in the world.

Lazy lingering touches,
soft kisses,
no urgencies.

As if slowing down our actions
would slow down the time too,
but it wouldn’t.

So we hold each other tight,
hearts beating as one;
entangled in one another,
not knowing where one ends and the other begins.

We lay
savoring every touch,
memorising every curve and plains,
every bumps and moles
to hold on to.

Till we again,
have all the time in the world.

Why did you stay up so late?

“Why did you stay up so late?”

“I’ve been – ”
Thinking,
remembering,
over thinking,
making up scenarios in my head,
making myself sad,
having mental conversations
that does nothing but make me feel bad
about myself
and insecure,
reminding myself that beneath the strong persona I wear every day,
I’m still the little weak girl,
still too scared,
still not brave.
Not brave enough tell you.
And so I say, “– working on the project I had.”
Wondering when did I take up a project to make myself sad.