It rained throughout the day I came alive. It always rained on my birthday anyway—not because of some supernatural, special, birthday-related force—It rained everyday in August, especially in the drab small town I had exiled myself to a few months before. I rolled onto my back, sweating profusely and slowly making a pool on the … Continue reading Sisi(Number 1)
I—after 24 years of life and almost 7 years of extermination—knew that assholery and other despicabilities were in no way gender specific. But after dozens of walks, I had yet to encounter a victim of the fairer sex. I’d always considered myself to be unbiased in my choice of victims, but how could I explain … Continue reading Sisi(number 46)
The night was dark and I was 19 years old. Don't you just hate stories that start with 'the night was dark'.... Of course it was, that's why it's the night!!. I had been taking my walks for a year at that time. It had been a couple months since number 4. After that time, … Continue reading Sisi(Number 5)
When I was younger —before all these disasters and human catastrophes— my favourite colour was yellow. Not the concentrated yellow of one of those sugary lollipops we all loved, I preferred the yellow of a fading rainbow. I was a bit of a romantic in those days, I liked to think that I was deep. … Continue reading Sisi (Number 59)
Reader, it has been so long since we had one of our one sided conversations. I can't say why exactly I haven't been writing to you for this last month or so.Buuuuuut, today, we'll talk. There's so much to say, so many things have happened that we have to talk about. You know reader, I've … Continue reading One of our one sided conversations
🕒 Time stopped The first time I saw you The sun danced On it's stand The wind sang My voice snagged in my throat. . . 💋 Your lips Hold the elixir That keeps my heart beating . . 👣 My legs forget How to walk When you're near . . 👐 I remember How … Continue reading Random Napkin poems
The first time my mother told me she loved me was the day she gave birth to me. The second time when she fed me from her breasts. As I grew, she wove the story of her love for me into the fabric of my life. The yarn stained with her blood and the loom … Continue reading Our love language…..