Before midnight leaves her with this creeping termite-like impression that says it doesn’t matter what happened anymore, just what she’s becoming in a breathing place called a city where a face must have been breathing life into her words, yet to no hold when her core’s such a chore to shelter and choosing happiness isn’t a reflex—she chokes in her clouded, spacing-out mind so used to make sense of the heart’s splinters and nothing else. Now where does she go from here, where does she go from here?
Tag: emptiness
Whatever that/those is/are
It’s a sign of having aged eyes, you know, that shift of fixation from what cannot be yours—look at you and your tight-clenched fist that can neither give nor receive—to the very sight you overlook, say, the gray curtain before your window that promises great outdoor views and never seems to break it. And so you start seeing, an act of a reaching kind of attention almost too late, till you gaze enough at the bare thing, whatever that is, that has always been a part of you all along like a deep end, a hit home, sending you back to yourself. You then open that hand to release grasped nothingness for more, only closing it to rub your eyes.
Andeng 