Our lines scatter from different corners of the world; they intersect in random lines called ‘strangers.’
But as Math explains, some lines are hopeless romantic.
There are tangent lines, lines that had one chance to meet and parted forever.
Parallel lines, lines that were never destined to meet, but meets each other’s gazes.
Asymptotes, that could only get closer and closer, but can never be together.
The Circle and Secant line, they met at a certain point in their world. They have crossed paths and thus began a relationship. They have a common ground which led them to enjoy each other’s company but because of the nature of their identity, they chose to part ways.
Even in simple lines, we deduce the fallacies of life, connections we seem to make sense.
To carve an image of happiness and preserve a fleeting feeling,
A moment drawn by time, ruled by feelings, directed from each heart,
If the world is all about connection,
Can we not try to be disconnected from the reality we are in?
You remind me of Rainbows, you are
(Rash, Ambiguous, Indefinite, Nuts, Bold, Opaque, Whimsical, Salient)
Full of colors, mixture of persona, a never-ending tale
Out of reach.
It’s kind of weird how we manage to determine our missing pieces in different situations may it be: in a bar, crossing roads, benches, in a class, emergency or sudden events that turns our table against our will.
Just as fast as the speed of light we enter into the courses we didn’t plan to weave. Blaming it into some sudden sparks we do not expect to happen.
But like rainbows, it comes after a heavy rain.
If you’re like rainbows, are you going disappear by sunrise? You just came right here to brighten this darkness,
Only to keep my sky blue.
But things happened on a wrong turn;
I liked rainbows than sunrise for it kept my sky blue.
Rainbows ought to disappear for a new morning
Why can’t I help myself to go and look for you
Even though as time pass by
As skies blur
You won’t be there anymore.
Things gradually change as Rainbows disappear
My sky turned gray instead of blue.
The sky went orange but it felt blue.
A glance, a smile, and a short period of forever.
I would be looking myself on the mirror, caught on the image of sweet sixteen.
Hands are stiff, brain freezes.
Sudden conversational blocks, answering giggles with sudden laughter,
“What the actual frappe is happening?!” I mentally scolded. It was me back then.
I was naïve about feelings.
Stunned by the truth that I cannot handle random colors,
I desired to be a poet.
Maybe a poet of colors.
Is there such term?
Words would look like a sting for the ear.
Wrecking, spoiling, and mocking the hell out of you.
Words that seem to play like riddles, getting the best out of luck.
I seem to play stupid, create parody of conversation, but I limit myself from creating a paradox.
It’s a form of acceptance, that I’m a mere human,
Voicing oneself from a distant star.
Say, if we did not meet, How’s your life going?
Say, if we did not fall, are we like this?
Say, how is it possible that tables turned, and it was me left hanging?
There was nothing to say,