It’s nostalgia that prompts me to write at this late an hour in this time zone. That and silence. At last the house is now in a state of timelessness as the rain outside pours in a lazy pace, matching the night it was born into.

As the days have turned to weeks, I find myself thinking less and less of what is supposed to be and why it should be. I don’t really understand it myself but hey, here I am typing away thoughts that seemed to just gush out unexpectedly.

These words of mine, are they enough to raise the dead?

I wonder if the universe knew what it was getting into every time someone is born. What would person be like after a few good years? Would Fate smile upon this child or would it frown and turn its proverbial wrath on an unsuspecting infant?

These things that remain out of our reach – always beyond our capacity to truly understand – they mark and pave the things we could and could not be. Like all those times we have been compelled to not dress in white because Murphy made an unexpectedly universal law. Are we really the masters of our own fate or are we just sims in some kid’s room, waiting for the fireplace to light up and lick us with its flames?

Am I the only one thinking like this?

I want to hold your hands again; lace my fingers with yours and feel the warmth seep through from your skin to mine.

I want to hear your voice again; hear the laughter that carries it as well as the whispers that make no promises. I want to feel the moist of your breath against my skin for only then is the moment that I can dream.

I want to see you again; trace the outline of your life and share it even for only another hour. Though greed will surely ask for another minute upon the hour and though the need will never be satiated by an eternity less, even for another moment let me drink in your countenance.

These petty things of cold possession only ask for you. In another time, another place, another us, even if the semblance to the present I know may no longer exist, I’ll be glad – to know you breath still and remember me – it is enough.


About kyogakura
Bored 95% of the time.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: