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Things that I know, things that I don’t. The hole in the ground, the birds on their nest, a child running down the alley; holding a red balloon. All the funny things in between, your eyes, your smile, your lips, your hands over mine. Things that mean nothing to them, and things that mean everything to you and me.

 Things that matter, and things that don’t. The smell of the grass swaying to the kiss of the wind, the sound of the cars honking around trying to beat this thing called traffic. A dog chasing a cat down the alley where the child with the red balloon was running. My eyes on yours, my erratic breathing, my sweaty hands nervously fidgeting yours.

The cat hissed, the dog yelped, the child cried, and up in the sky the red balloon went flying. Sprinkles of fantasy rewarded with a slap from reality. There’s you, and then there’s me. Sitting a table away from each other, you reading a book, and me getting lost in my fantasies.

Of love, and of you, and of me, and of all the funny things in between.




The story starts, just like how every story starts. It was late at night, we were sitting by the beach, cozy by the fire, lightening up the pitch black sky. We talked, laughed, teased and we kissed, did all the little things to keep the fire going — on it cracked, and on it burned. We were alive.


And just like how every middle part of the story works like how every middle part of the story works, it started to rain, panic crept into our eyes, our hearts trying to claw out of our chests, our minds confused. Then we heard a sizzling sound — kssss, it was our fire, it was slowly dying out. We panicked as we tried to do what we could to save it. But the little things that we used to do didn’t work anymore.


We argued, we made up only to argue anew. We ended up angry, sad, and desperate — as the fire slowly died out, we did too.


The story ends just like how any other story ends, dawn was breaking, we were at the beach, the waves singing its morning tune — a soft ballad of weeesh and wooosh




we stared as our fire slowly turned to embers, and as the last remaining embers turned into ashes, we stood up, and left, with nothing but perpetual silence.

Raise Your Glasses, It’s the New Year

A toast, for the year that has passed,

A year full of loss, and a year full of gratefulness

It’s that time of the year again,

where we hold our door open for a minute or two,

to see our old pal out, and welcome a new stranger in,

we don’t know what waits, yet in we still welcome it,

hopefully a friend it becomes to everyone,

and not a total douche like that last one

So to the year that is about to leave,

and the year that is about to come,

a shiny glass I raise to you






Nothing in this world could ever beat that fuzzy feeling you get,

when you are smothered by your love’s warm embrace,

it’s like the perfect way to end the heart’s longing-

gone will be the heavy load your shoulder carries,

goes away all the restlessness your heart feels,

there’s just nothing but an assuring warmth,

riding calm waters slowly into the soul of the sea,

where the wind blows, and the cloud envelopes the hot sun,

as you slowly close your eyes to the hum of her heartbeat,

you smile and whisper to yourself–


Bourbon Street

I don’t know where you are,

but I know someday I’ll meet you,

in this vibrant and crazy place,

full of people that are two faced

I won’t be expecting you,

same goes for you to me,

together in that exact moment-

we’ll encounter serendipity

and when both our eyes meet,

the world will stop spinning,

no sound, no time, there’d be nothing,

just both our hearts quietly beating