Friday, July 15, 2016

THE FLOOD


I still desperately cling to the aftertaste of remorsing bitersweet euphoria when seeing you smile.

Something about the way your eyes shines like ruby. Perhaps something about the way you exist itself. Smile? A little crease of your mouth, sign of presenting good times. Expressions floated by little balloons at the end of your mouth.

I don't know, I literally do not know myself as to why I still want you to be near even when I am convinced you feel nothing now when you see me. You cannot feel nothing small, anyway.