Cold hands warm hearts 

It’s amazing how things just fall into place after so much struggle and everything seems so right. From a darkness that doesn’t appear to lift, can appear a bright shining light. They say things happen when they’re meant to, but I’ve always been nervous about the fate. I sat back and watched my life unfold and wondered if it was worth the wait. Then one day I realised what they say is the truth. The fate will get you through. But you have to go out and make good things happen, for good things to happen to you.

It’s strange how every moment feels like a dreamscape when every second I’ve spent with you has left me feeling alive. Your hair a tangled mess against the pillow, your dazed warm eyes, the freckles on your cheeks spelling out poetry I could never get tired of writing, your lips gently parted with every breath you take.

No place would ever give me as much solace as your arms. No aesthetic is as calming as your mesmerizing eyes. No music is as beautiful as your voice, deep and soft. Your voice has become my love song, that greets me every morning and is the last thing I hear before I go to sleep at night.

Maybe this is what forever feels like?

You asked for a dance on a slow song at that party. The thumps of the rhythm felt muted against my feet, the harmony slowed to a soft beat. In that, I felt your heart against mine, the heart rate climbing as if it was trying to catch up with mine.

Your hand around my shoulder, your other hand in mine. Our breathe mingling, shallow and rapid.

I became the beats and you held me together when I felt apart in your arms, coursing through you like a rhythm.

I became the soft lights, turned into the sparkle in your eyes.

I turned into something more than just human, I became alive.

Your touch on my skin felt warm and comforting. I think I fell in love with you.

And with the way your eyes turned soft, looking at me,

I think, you did too.



Imperfection #2

“You’re so stubborn” she smiled as I refused to enter first.

“I’m not stubborn” I pouted. “I’m just an independent self centered”, I said my chin up.

“Sure” she smirked. “But seriously though, why won’t you sometimes accept help?” Her playful expressions changed into a serious one.

“It makes me feel vulnerable” I replied, staring at my worn Pepe Jeans. “What’s wrong with that?” she asked, clearly not understanding why I hated myself being weak.

“I don’t like being open. So if I need help I’ll just say I can do it on my own just fine. But I need help. It’s my immune system you know.”

“Oh” is her soft reply. *such a sweet voice* I can see her thinking, her eyebrows frowned above her gorgeous eyes, those what looked like the most beautiful galaxies.

“Have you always been like that?” Her soft whisper snapped me out of my staring.

“No, not always. Just got acquainted with phenomena people” was my answer, it sounded more bitter than I wanted to be. She grabbed my shoulder, held my hand, turning me to face her, staring into my hazel brown eyes. “Not everyone is like that you know. I’m sure someday someone will come around and show you the good and beautiful sides that can be in a person.”

I smiled, tugging her hair which she hates, behind her ear. “I think I’m starting to get to know the one who will.”


Writing about you

The sunlight streamed through the window making my brown ugly eyes glow like they’ve been lit by a thousand fires.

I haven’t slept enough lately, craving more what ifs and butterflies fluttering my stomach. Apparently I’ve been staring at the ceiling for too long thinking of the things about us.

Let’s make a world of our own. Let’s breathe, scream and laugh, you knew in every moment I would just let out ‘I want to scream’ and you would just look at me and wonder why I am like this? I would just giggle it off because you knew there isn’t a soul like mine out there. We would have these odd moments where we could stare and gawk at each other but you’d win the staring competition as looking into your eyes was something impossible to do. Eyes speak everything.

We had dreams of doing silly things in parts of the city and holding hands while walking down busy streets, humming to ‘I had a dream, we were sipping whiskey neat’ and you would just look at me in confusion when I got the Selena’s verses wrong. And to eat in fancy restaurants ordering Friday night Joey’s special and wonder how we are going to manage to pay the bill, so we would just always think of meals we could make together dancing in the kitchen.

To end our day full of happiness, something we crave after a long tiring week. But it seems like I didn’t have to win a staring competition to realise at the end of the day, I had fallen in love with you.



Suddenly something happened to me that I didn’t quite understand. My body was reacting normally. I was hot and extremely bothered. My heart was reacting normally. It was beating fast and loud. My mind though; nothing normal going on up there. Normally my mind would be in the trash about right now. Thinking about all of the things I wanted to tell her. Images of walking on the beach with our pants rolled up while holding hands. Images of long rides, cotton candy and big useless stuffed teddy bears. Images of lying on a blanket in the grass holding her while we watch fireworks. Images of walking to her door with flowers and dancing with her after dinner in the moonlight. Images of me playing the guitar and she singing one of those Selena songs. Images of… okay you get the picture. I stopped suddenly and looked at the beautiful now dark eyes. They were looking back at me confused.

“Are you okay?” she asked, out of breath.

“This is what you want, right?”

“Yes, of course, yes. But I…” I didn’t want to scare her away with the truth but I couldn’t lie to her in this moment with the way she was looking at me. I was not confident enough to believe she wanted the same.

“Just tell me”, she said as her fingers softly grazed my cheek, her head tilted to the side, her eyes looking into mine as if I was everything she ever dreamed of falling in love with a boy with hazel brown coloured eyes. “What do you want?” She asked.

“Everything. I want everything with you”, I replied, tucking a strand of fallen hair behind her ear, looking at her like she was all I had ever dreamed of.



“Summer is my favourite season” he said, “and when I look at you it’s almost like you’re my sun. But there’s a difference. You never blind me.

She looked at him, holding onto his hands like he was about to slip away. “Please don’t say things like that. You’re making it sound like I’m perfect. I am no good. How can’t you see? You’re so innocent. I can see your whole story when I look into your eyes. I used to think brown was an ugly colour. I often associated it with things like mud and rotting wood. But then I met you, the boy with brown eyes, and when I looked into them, brown was no longer ugly. I began to associate it with beautiful things like cups of coffee, sweet chocolate. You’re so kind and loving. So much more unlike me. I am no good.”

His smile had faded. He looked so serious now, and there was something else in his eyes : he was damaged. He had been for so long. “You’re summer, and I love summer. So please, no matter what I do, don’t give up on me, because without you, I’m struck in winter. And I can’t be stuck in winter forever. Not again!”



“It’s endlessly fascinating, isn’t it?” The noise of the city nearly drowned out of her words as she turned up her collar against the wind, reaching for his outstretched hand.

“What is?” he asked, linking his fingers with hers. Her eyes followed the people crossing the road, latching onto passing cars every now and then, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“I just can’t help wondering about all these people.”

“About all of them?” Laughter laced his voice. It died when he saw the serious look on her face.

“All of them.” She confirmed solemnly, nodding, “every single one. Have you ever thought about how may different stories they have to tell? Look at that man over there” – she pulled her hand free to point at a man carrying a bouquet of flowers further down the street. “What if he just brought the flowers for the love of his life, ready to surprise her? What if he takes them to his sick mother to cheer her up? There are billions of people and they all have a favourite colour and a favourite song they sing along to in the shower. They all have a person that makes their heart beat faster and some of them wake up to an empty bed and wish they wouldn’t. Some of them have their life figured out at the age of sixteen, and others are in their forties and regret all the things they didn’t do when they were young. They worry and they argue and they love and they cry themselves to sleep. They’re all so separate, yet so connected.” She paused, looking at him with her big round eyes.

“They all have their stories to tell. I sometimes wonder how many stories I’m part of it. What impressions I left behind on someone else’s life. If they even remember meeting me.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear as she smiled and rested his forehead against hers.

“I don’t know about any of these other faceless person, but I know about me. I have many stories to tell, but the ones with you in it are my favourite. You have not only left an impression on my life – you made my story ours!”


Sweet Reminiscing

They sat with their shoulders touching and their knees bumping against each other. She smiled when he gently laced his fingers through her hair but her good mood faltered when she took a look at his face. He seemed distracted, his brows furrowed and his forehead wrinkled, his eyes unfocused.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I keep thinking about what would have happened if I hadn’t been at that birthday party a year ago and drunk out of my mind. I would never have made a move to talk to you.” He glanced down at their joined hands.

“You wouldn’t have vomited all over my new shoes, either.” He laughed at the memory, remembering the embarrassment that had set his cheeks aflame as though it was yesterday. “Where would we be now if we hadn’t met there?”, he asked quietly. There was something about reminiscing that left a bitter aftertaste. Being nostalgic always came with the finality of knowing a situation had passed.

“How do we know what we missed out when we were at the wrong places with the wrong people? What if it was something wonderful, something life changing? Something we didn’t get to experience because we made the wrong decision?” She squeezed his hand and pressed her lips to his temple, quick and sweet.

“We don’t. And I think that’s what makes life so interesting and so beautiful!”