chasing cupid's dart
every once in awhile, she sits at the corner of the room and randomly reads a book aloud. she would listen to the little things—how crispy or chewy the words she spells—so that she knows how exactly she sounds whenever she’s angry, sad or happy. and it turns out fine. she sounds fine when she’s angry, sad or happy, or perhaps that’s how she shapes or imagines them everyday: empty bottles.
no matter how many hours or days it takes for her to finally digest the rules of life, she’s probably used to it now; the voice; her voice. so there’s nothing special about it.
with those lips, tongue and teeth, she could talk about things she likes or dislikes. she would then go out to jog and meet people in another neighbourhood. her curiousity wants her to flash them her biggest smile although she just had Nasi Lemak that morning.
how silly and funny it seems that she lives in a house with no mirrors, and she’s just used to it. she howls to the floors and stairs to stay still, or else they’re all going down deeper than yesterday. she pays the bills monthly only to let herself survive another day in another empty house, surrounded by wounded-high walls. and she takes bigger leaps each time she walks pass her temple.
she knows how her mother could have talked about buying happiness, but she told her, proudly: you could grow some love, too. her father could have taught her to love harder, but he showed her how to fix it instead. in big cities like this, negotiations are cheap and what comes easy won’t last forever. she doesn’t need forever or far away. she only needs to start afresh, or so she thought: I want to grow up by fixing my sleep.
she rushes to the ground to spend her life under the Sun: eat, read, stretch, and play, and slowly, she manages her sober life.
it’s the same Sun nourishing soils and oceans, polishing stars and skies, motivating humans and animals to hunt for food or hurt each other. all lining up in God’s hands with or without terror, yet people stray further from it day by day, being paranoid of heat, hurt and hate behind their underdeveloped prefrontal cortex, or so she assumed: in big cities like this, negotiations to Hell are cheaper than longing for something so raw, so beneficial.
this is not her happy ending but twenty-five doesn’t last forever, too.
no matter how many hours or days it takes for her to finally digest the rules of life, she’s probably used to it now; the voice; her voice. so there’s nothing special about it.
with those lips, tongue and teeth, she could talk about things she likes or dislikes. she would then go out to jog and meet people in another neighbourhood. her curiousity wants her to flash them her biggest smile although she just had Nasi Lemak that morning.
how silly and funny it seems that she lives in a house with no mirrors, and she’s just used to it. she howls to the floors and stairs to stay still, or else they’re all going down deeper than yesterday. she pays the bills monthly only to let herself survive another day in another empty house, surrounded by wounded-high walls. and she takes bigger leaps each time she walks pass her temple.
she knows how her mother could have talked about buying happiness, but she told her, proudly: you could grow some love, too. her father could have taught her to love harder, but he showed her how to fix it instead. in big cities like this, negotiations are cheap and what comes easy won’t last forever. she doesn’t need forever or far away. she only needs to start afresh, or so she thought: I want to grow up by fixing my sleep.
she rushes to the ground to spend her life under the Sun: eat, read, stretch, and play, and slowly, she manages her sober life.
it’s the same Sun nourishing soils and oceans, polishing stars and skies, motivating humans and animals to hunt for food or hurt each other. all lining up in God’s hands with or without terror, yet people stray further from it day by day, being paranoid of heat, hurt and hate behind their underdeveloped prefrontal cortex, or so she assumed: in big cities like this, negotiations to Hell are cheaper than longing for something so raw, so beneficial.
this is not her happy ending but twenty-five doesn’t last forever, too.