Sometime later

I know sometime later, it will hurt less

Things will make sense, and we will move on

I know sometime later, your voice will not shake my heart

And places we visited won’t make me crave

I guess I can feel now, the loss you felt at losing your lighthouse

But I wish you could see that it wasn’t my punishment to take

I know sometime later, I will heal

I only hope you can find it in your heart to heal yourself too

Save myself

I want you out of me, all of you.

I despise your selfish touch

I despise your harsh words

You have no respect for anybody whatsoever

But you will act victim. Everytime

Maybe I deserved you

Maybe you’re my wakeup call

But one day I’ll free myself of you

One day I’ll save myself .

Credit Freestocks

Stealth

Image by Patryk Sobczak

Thud thud 

I could hear my tread

I woke up amidst the crowd of sleeping selves 

The night had a hussle but my mind was quiet

I was strolling in the middle of a queer sight 

There was white smoke escaping the lips 

That burnt a cigarette of their own flesh 

And children playful and vulnerable 

Hopping and splashing dirt unto the earth dweller

Eyes making merry, seeking out daylight 

Blindly in the moonlight 

I saw blazing flames rising to the sky

I stepped closer and watched the logs vanishing 

The next morning I returned to see what remains

There was but ashes; of logs and souls

A lucid dream #writephoto

Every fortnight they met. The moon, the tree, and she. Dressed in moonlight, her gorgeous locks flowing in the air, caressing them, she crossed the dark mystic field without a worry in her eyes. Upon gazing her, the moon and the tree sighed. 

Step by step she walked towards her, each step felt like centuries to the tree. Even though she had to wait a fortnight, the longest was after having her in sight.

The moon blinked. He knew how tree felt about her. They often talked about how she baffled their senses. They talked in whispers about their fear of not having to see her after another fortnight. Fear was but their expression of longing, of desire and desperation. They were helpless.

What were they to call it? Love was often taken as mating of bodies. But they were mating dreams. Together was when people were bound to each other, but they were free with each other. So this was neither love, nor togetherness. 
What is it then? 

A lucid dream, you two! She giggled.

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Write for Sue Vincent’s Thursday #writephoto challenge here. ❤️