Category Archives: prose

Second Thought Realities

We chose the opposites further away at dinner tonight. Broasted chicken from last night, steamed canned corn and soda from the grocery downstairs was all the effort we could put in tonight for our empty, appetite less stomachs. We stalled conversation and chose to listen to the news we have already read in the afternoon on our phones.

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Commas; Dots

I had an impulsive urge to rearrange my entire room last month at a time equally away from noon and evening. By the time it was midnight, there was patch of untouched floor in my room three out of five furniture pieces at new postings. By the time is was sunrise, the untouched patch of floor was cleaned and pushed back to inaccessibility and, five out of five furniture pieces were back to their older postings. You see, the new arrangement didn’t let my mind sleep even though my body only craved sleep. It is though another conversation altogether that neither did its predecessor. A week after that, my documents were less documented and more scattered – one sheet at a time. The files within reach seemed too far for me and, it all kept piling up. But the Friday last week, I made the journey to them and filed papers dated back to kindergarten. Floors were mopped; clothes were pressed; errands were ticked and everything was put to place. I arranged life like you’d arrange dominos.

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Balance

I’m painting your nails while you fill me up on what’s happened over summer and autumn in your life in between sips of a chocolate and peanut butter shake. You wanted something common that would go with any outfit you wore tonight so you chose a metallic black with bits of glitter. A nude would have been bland for your taste; it would be my choice of nails. I’ve locked your fingers with mine because you’re reckless and I was determined to let the paint dry without a smudge this time. You complained about not being able to drink the shake like this before giggling at the possibility of you still managing to get a smudge on the nail-paint. Because of course, that would be classic you and not entirely impossible. But then again, that’s if it were somebody other than me involved in this equation.

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Tell Tale

The rooms lit up in purple with a splash of white from the worded light telling you where you are. There are posters of the 70s, The Beatles, and lyrics of songs you’d look up on your way back home. The wall of mirrors on the left corner would add space to the studio but the illusion is broken with frames in matte bronze, brown and unfitting geometric shapes. You can smell the leather from the couches huddled in the centre with sufficient cushions in different textures of white and, cream.

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Interest Over Time

You’ve got the last half of the chocolate cake in front of you and, me – instant noodles topped with scrambled eggs. The whole world knows orange juice goes well noodles and eggs but, only you seem to have a liking for its pairing with chocolate cake. It’s three quarters away from midnight and, this was our dinner.

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Strung

It’s a weekend night and I’ve picked my best suit for tonight – an ebony blue, single-breasted suit – with a white shirt with prints of sails you’d notice if you looked closely. I kept the tie plain, matching the suit in colour and the shoes a teak oxford. The highlight of the outfit was a secret – the multicoloured striped socks with stripes in outrageously bright shades of yellow, orange, red, and maroon. I brushed my hair back and then ruffled it lightly. And finally, I dabbed some mahogany musk to the designated pulse points before putting the white handkerchief in the right back pocket of my pants. I left the phone behind as I picked up my wallet and, stepped out onto the street with a black trench over my shoulders and a clear umbrella in hand – just in case. Continue reading Strung

Colouring

He sipped on double espresso while the sky wasn’t yet struck by sunlight. He was dressed in a crisp white button-down paired with a pair of lightly plaid khaki pants tapered at his ankles that stayed on his waist with the help of a walnut brown leather belt. The back of his neck was plastered with droplets of cold water that fell off his washed hair. He smelt of musk flavoured cocoa – odd in theory but intriguing in practical. The one-day-old stubble brought more shadows to his jawline, bringing out its sharpness. He liked to sit outside, next to the benches, on the smoothened rocks. You could see rays bounce off the marigold here and, the wind danced to ballads in ballet.

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