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May all this heavy, dense, ether we could hardly gasp leads us into a commonplace.

Into something we're more familiar with.

Even transitory time deserves its own hurrah. Cheers to each mighty etched feeling, though it was mere fleeting, yet hopefully not.

It was ajar for a while, then it was cracked open along a line of weakness. As it eroded; moulting away, carrying all the salt from oceans of the old world. To retreat into the comfort of our shells; staying as we are for the time unknown or to embrace the mushy mass of mash; frequently clashing and clattering for the time being. Such is destiny.

Drawing on the surface of a motionless river. Never thought I would enjoy tracing these circles with the tip of my finger. Over and over.

Be careful of what you wished for, they said. But then I wished upon abundance. Be here and listen, we said. But little did I know about, that could transcend any bother into an intangible sense of tender. But then, this is what I wished upon and we have never been this proud of ourselves. Ever. Like a gust of warm wind in December.

I might be able to give you answers on why the world keeps spinning round, but that person himself, could give you a profound plot on what makes the world still eager to revolve for each and every day. But not around us as a piece, anymore.

on (a dream of) making amends

So now, we’re good? Weren’t we? Have we never? Yes, always, since eternity.

we met rarely and talked mundanely; by the pool, in a room with checkered linens, on the balcony of this ridiculously sweltering attic, in that particular dim corner of that particular coffee shop (we won’t see these obnoxious ones there, I said.) we cried involuntarily and shouted at the top of our lungs; silently. it was just a noisy thought, unutterable still. we are our own places; the long gone courtyard, a 24/7 hawker stall, the sketchy motel, gentrified neighbourhoods, fine lines under your eyes, those familiar faces in recurring bad dreams. we are our own places and there were no places we ever owned. we remain unknown;

fortunately.

paths crossed/minutes spent/walls torn but alas despite these travelled roads/moonlit delights/things beyond the rubbles for many vivid nights one came unintelligible it was you was not it was it help you desire for but among many why it has to be me ?

these times we are no longer jotting down the days. those times the days are jotting down on us.

strange isn’t it? to realise as we get more numbers sentience and sapience always try to get ahead of one another trotting on different surfaces of a möbius strip constantly figuring out but what was it?

enunciating what was unsettling far from loud, like you always were coherently mistaken

but as we emptied the trunk from the back of a wagon — in the shade of Pinotage, the least appealing of all — smog decided to go home early.

ease greeted the two of us like a whiff from the kitchen on a Sunday noon.

enough is a comfortable word. right where we gleefully agree. per aspera ad astra.

we were roaming around this small coastal town. population 109.

there was a small diner.

one of the neon letters was blinking and buzzing as we walked down the parking lot. the letter r.

2.30 and bottomless coffee. the jukebox was dusty, one thing we knew for sure.

time to bed as it was more than 3 hours since the first cup. warbling sandpipers and chattering hunters alarmed us gently.

a humble inn right across the cliff.

we were lost between room 708 and 710. half mumbling half yawning. seemingly, it was room 707 we were always looking for.

we relieved. we fell asleep.

infinite gratitude to the universe

an untold topographical tale about lingering delights

curves; coarse; coteau; caress; coast; velvety; hum; hum; hum; sultry; slope; plain; grunt; gently; coax; carefully.

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