Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Downpour, Edge, and Clipped (OneWord)

I’ve cross-posted some of my entries at Oneword here last September. While I’m not exactly a frequenter in the site, I always drop by  whenever I have extra time (Tumblr’s almost eating it all up, haha). Here's another set of entries. Note that all of them were penned within 60 seconds, and there may be some grammatical errors in them. I didn’t make any correction/alteration in the final products. :p

DOWNPOUR:
When the tears seeped through the blindfold of my fingers, I know that it’s useless to plaster the upturned frown I was donning the whole day. Then I heard the sobs of the thunderclouds outside, followed by the loud splatter of rain. The roofs and the pavements were slippery with tears. I smiled through my sadness, because at the moment I know I’m not alone. The sky is an empath.

EDGE:
Lots of things happen whenever I’m teetering on the edge of wakefulness, where a millimeter from my toe I can see the steep staircase that goes down to my version of dreamland. Sometimes I imagine what tomorrow would be like by taking a risky glance behind me, checking the shape of my footprints. Sometimes I just look ahead, pretending that I’m some sort of a tightrope walker that needed to get to the other side. Either way I’m at an impasse, and until winds from my memory would push me into the abyss, I would stay transfixed at that position for as long as I can.

CLIPPED
Life is forever unfair. For most of the time you spent living, you will be slithering along the metaphorical leaves of knowing what’s good, what’s bad, what’s between them, like a caterpillar attempting to know his place in the world. There will come a time when you have to curl up in a cocoon, to brood about what you have learned so far, and when you emerge out of this temporary home, you will soar, sliding along the playful winds of fate that take you places. And just when you think you are the freest creature on earth, someone comes along to clip your wings. Someone will be there, waiting with the rust-caked scissors…

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