Goldish afternoon creeping westward, fell on the bend of your lips. Its tangerine spots landed bashfully there, rustling the shade of your look which suddenly turned warmer. Her brain was a microfilm, portraying every millisecond of pleasing existence in front of her and quietly rescued motile gazes of your mien for later be remembered, only by herself.
Now if I still have to offer you a question,
was it a zsa-zsa-zsu?
I’d love to see you in an overexposured photograph where we’re looking at the burning red of sunset and I steal a quick snap of your portrait gazing at the west. Just a dark silhouette of you. In which you don’t have to worry about the possibility that you may be looking all peculiar at that moment, because we could always disguise it in all black. In which we learn that obscurity could somehow be good if we know how to befriend them, wisely.
At a certain moment, we might agree with the idea of fluctuating value of things; pre-, syn-, and post- literal rift–as if it happens in tectonics. The past is a crack of dawn which we desire to arrive soon. A momentary lure we know we cannot have for long; a transient bliss departing way too soon. Seconds passing, carrying along the bluish shade, wintry air, chirps of chaffinches, dewdrops on narcissus, and so forth. Along with them is a renewal of yesterday’s sins, all erased together by the entrance of morning. We wish we will have a daybreak forever chained in our sky. We wish it were a gift sent to our dorm, wrapped with sunbeams and sealed with new hopes of new days. We want it to be ours evermore. Continue reading “On a Thought of Time and Phases”