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half burning plains
sad sad soul
![half burning plains](/_next/image?url=https%3A%2F%2Ffirebasestorage.googleapis.com%3A443%2Fv0%2Fb%2Fprompt-6db57.appspot.com%2Fo%2Fusers%252FoCilOIs234S9GXJpGKIkHK7KUhs1%252Fprofile_image_128x128.jpg%3Falt%3Dmedia%26token%3Da127de7c-578c-4533-ac06-2a8280b5c25f&w=256&q=75)
half burning plains
sad sad soul
sad sad soul
sad sad soul
i never got to tell anyone
exactly how i fell for you
recount the moments meticulously
like i would if i were writing a recipe
a doctor’s operating manual
a washing instruction
cold wash, 20 degrees
sullen, swooping mountains are all one can see
for the entire misty day you waited for me
and by sunset you caught a glimpse of me
you opened your arms in glee
when my clothes still reeked of rai...
because that’s the only way to breathe
because language puts pain at ease
at least just for a little while
our story grows stale
the texture of it disconcerting
and the fabrics of the space between us becomes gritty
when it shouldn’t be
i thought we had closure
had imagined a hundred different ways of this ending badly
all convincing enough for me to believe in
i thought i had ripped out unfinis...
If I could count the ways I love you
I still wouldn’t be able to understand
why I can’t unlove you
and disentangle my soul
from the not-world we made
why I can’t flee from the sooty ruins and the smell of coals
and watch my burn fade
I still wouldn’t be able to un-learn
the heat from your palms
the shape of the space right below your collar bones
where i’ve kept an un-shed tear
every time yo...
i often wonder how our story will be told
if we had met differently
would we grow old
together, or become the friendliest enemies
if we were the same age
or from the same town
sat next to each other in the cinema
or walked our dogs on the same lawn
we could have met at the bookstore
reaching out for the same spines
have you ever wondered how beautiful it is
to call those liminal spaces “spines...
I’ve created a monster
by laying bare my cards
and letting you go
I fed it the shards
of my rain-soaked bones
and watched it fatten
in a season where leaves have fallen
The pain has morphed into something even more difficult to describe
a lingering tremor
like Big Bang’s leftover noise
i took a shower in the dark just now
because electricity was out
i lit a candle to place in my wash basin
y...
you sent me a photo you took
of a rose burning in a bonfire
i marvelled at how poetic it looked
against my untamed heart you and this moment seem to conspire
you told me about this day at the beach
where a sunset has set everything on fire
and marshmallows had to be roasted on roses
and their shadows danced like real lovers
i think about how we shared this memory
over the wires, so to speak ...
you printed out a photo i took of you
and kept it under
the glass surface of your desk
your smile all glassy
opaque because it was taken on a misty day
i still see that photo before it became one
as i stared through the viewfinder
i remember the moment i clicked on the shutter
one flash.
our eyes crashed
in that nugget of a second
a piecemeal attempt at eternalising
something that was alread...
i laid down on wet grass today
staring at the disappearing clouds
thinking about how you and i
have done something some lovers never could
they could’ve stayed as one, unbroken and forever
but never became themselves and healed
we talk about the rain
but never enough about the wet scars on the pavement
or the grass that end up soaking my jeans
we talked, over the phone at 3 am
choking up to the ...
how does one move on from something that didn’t happen?
how would you depart from a place
that didn’t exist on the maps
exiled from definitions, a void that entraps
how do you move on when you cannot move a limb
paralysed, stupefied
fossilised in place like chalk white cliffs
mulling over an alternative landscape
where your tectonic plates will collide with mine
forging peaks and valleys
that...
a window is stuck open and i’ll have to live with it
i chew the phrase over with my molars
swirl it with my tongue chafed by its bitterness
it sounds foreign even in a tongue i’ve mothered for years
is there anything you don’t “live with”?
i’ll have to die with the dead memories of
those brooding mountains and their prehistoric sounds
that sounded like breaths punctured by
a lone rooster’s crow...