Tag Archives: Emotions

Playground

The sun is still a few hours from setting;

A few hours before the kids come to the park

And compel us to handover the swings to them.

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Memory Material

We made a vow
To gift each other memories
Instead of materials.
You’d take me
For coffee and donuts
At midnight when
The moon was full,
While I’d take us
For drives by the beach
When the clouds turned
From red to violet to black.
We’d dance to records
Playing on your grandfather’s gramophone
After work,
In dark or pastel formals
With neon print socks.

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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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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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Cinnamon Coffee

It’s two hours past midnight and, the room still smells of summer this fall night. She’s got the mattress pulled over to the window that replaced the wall and, an untouched bed five feet away. There are two novels stacked beside the mattress – both being read simultaneously. The yellow outside brings out the pink in the purple blanket and, adds orange dust to the red pillow. No curtain hides the window, letting the sky change the palette of the room with time and, mood. She settles in with her hair pulled back in a bun made with neat intentions but messy results and a cup of cinnamon infused mocha – her taste often made atrocious expressions on other faces.  Continue reading Cinnamon Coffee