rainatdusk

[rainatdusk]

hurt

hurt is a funny emotion, if i may.

putting aside it’s complexity of not killing a man all at once, but rather spreading agonisingly slow like venom;

i personally find it quite humorous that it will not, cannot, take someone down right away.

it must always hurt more than once, that’s the unwritten rule.

it might hurt twice like a knife stab- initially during the jab, and next when u pull the knife out.

it might hurt thrice like a fracture- once at the scene of the accident, twice during the surgery, and last during physiotherapy.

it might hurt four times like having a child- first during labour, then watching them grow up, later having them move out, and ultimately when they lose you for good.

or it might even hurt a lifetime, like when my mother called me selfish.

it might hurt so much that suddenly, i knew more about the oceans than scientists ever could- for i felt them well up in my eyes, threatening to fall.

it might hurt so much that despite knowing it was merely a silly argument, and that she could not have meant it, i dared not to meet her eyes for the rest of the week.

it might hurt so much that every single time i find myself even remotely putting my ease of mind before others’, i cannot face myself in the mirror.

it’s funny how hurt can do so much to rationality. it’s funny how hurt can do so much.

it’s funny how it can hurt.

[rainatdusk]

love you?

i’ve heard many a times about how loving someone you know will never love you back is a ridiculous mistake. but i am an arrogant teenager who’s only learnt lessons of life from their own doings.

so i’ve allowed myself to get stabbed in the gut one too many times: the blunt pain of sitting in the back while they’re all the way in the first row; of trying to match their eyes just to find them already looking at someone else; of yearning to see them smile despite knowing i would never cause it.

but regardless of the fact that my blood stains on the knife now glisten in the sunlight, i know the handle of the knife possesses their fingerprints. that is all i crave for, at present.

and i don’t reckon i need to have them to know that.

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐮𝐞

𝐝𝐨 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮?

𝐧𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐬

𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬

𝐢 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐰, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞

𝐝𝐨 𝐢 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮?

[rainatdusk]

arms

in a world filled with unsolicited advices at every corner, it is left to the unknown how not a single soul warned a fear filled girl, who fell in love, about the changes that could be.

no one prompted her of how a love as pure as a dove could be shelved as a lowly affair. no one warned her that the fairytale she lived in during daytime, would haunt her as an overturned nightmare.

she didn't know things could change. she didn't know until the mirror in her balcony that welcomed the reflection of a bright rainbow, also bore witness to her glossy eyes. she didn't know until she saw the arms that she used to lay on became riffles that began to prick her on an insignificant winter night.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐤 𝐬𝐥𝐲𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭,

𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞.

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭, 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐫

𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

[rainatdusk]

new hue

all her life, when her untold feelings hovered upon her at dusk, she could always easily wrap them into a packet of words and put them aside.

but on an overly seamless night in august, when she could no longer shrink her feelings onto a paper, her quill pointed it's feather to a new foreign emotion that she's grown acquainted with.

an emotion emanated from dew before a drizzle and the subtle shine of the moon. a new alien feeling that she had only read about in books, stories and poems.

"whose poems?" was a substantial question to ask, because they most certainly weren't hers. she couldn't even name the sensation.

hence, to perhaps seek solutions to her predicament, she had resolved to put her foot down, just as she did her pen, and took a step towards him. that was all she had to do to determine the name of the alien emotion- love.

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐰

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮?

𝐢'𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥'𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐰

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐢'𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐢 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐭𝐡𝐞 ��𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐮𝐞

[rainatdusk]

the eight deadly sin

the bible has never assured me enough. but surprisingly not because of issues an average man would point fingers at.

but because of how love is not considered a sin, but rather is often veiled under the list of virtues in interpretations.

it often baffles me, the way it's overlooked how the seven sins: pride, greed, wrath, envy, lust, gluttony and sloth, are not deadlier than love.

never a moment in history was recorded, in which love caused any less dismay than the deadly sins.

it's much like an unsought quicksand. unpredictable, and almost impossible to realise when you start to sink into the sand. and furthermore impossible to break out from it.

and even once you attain the impossible, it takes an inexcusably prolonged amount of time to brush off the sand.

𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝

𝐢𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰

𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰

𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 ��𝐨𝐨𝐫

𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟

[rainatdusk]

love or fear?

it's a disease to stay up until late at night, to shun away my heavy eye lids begging for freedom at the brink of sleep. just so that i don't stumble upon you in my dreams.

but what use is being awake, if all i can feel is my entire being burning down into ashes, craving to be held by you so desperately?

the horror of "the end" might pierce through my heart until it's no longer of use. but what's the way out, if i would still want to give that useless heart to you?

if i'm petrified of our last chapter, but would still breathe my last breath to read it, what is more remarkable- my love, or my fear?

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝

𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲?

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦

𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐩𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧,

𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐦

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐞,

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 ��𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐛𝐲

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧

𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐲

[rainatdusk]

the red thread of fate

the red thread of fate, or the string of destiny, is said to be an imaginary red cord around the fingers of those that are destined for each other. those that are each other's truest love.

but when an imaginary thread translates to fiction, and "truest love" transcends to lingering feelings, would the thread come undone? or would it have never existed in the first place?

when the thread ascertaining the love two people have for each other is illusionary, then how definitive would the love itself be?

certainly not definitive enough to last. but then, then what?

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐝𝐲𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫,

𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐡𝐲𝐦𝐞

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐦𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭.

[rainatdusk]

lilac

lilacs symbolise first love. the first love that is indelible, important and illuminating. but it's not every day that it's reciprocated. and that is unfortunate.

but isn't it more despairing when that first love is in love with some other girl? and when she's no less than perfect?

what more could a girl do than to slowly just accept it? than to just realise that he'll have her heart and someone else will have his. than to accept that it's okay. and if it isn't yet, it will be soon.

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐭

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫,

𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐭?

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐜

𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤

𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐧

𝐢'𝐦 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢'𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

[rainatdusk]

fault in their stars

what is a man ought to do when a silly little girl falls in love with him like a bolt out of the blue? and what is he to do when he doesn't love her back? is it really such a blunder that he feels differently than her?

and what is a woman ought to do when she's hopelessly enamored with a man who makes her breath hitch with every movement he makes? what is she expected to do when she realises that the emotions in their bond are so cruelly lopsided? is she supposed to not love him anymore even when he effortlessly keeps her up every night? is it really such a blunder that she feels so strongly for him?

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐝

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫

𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞

𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰, 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩

𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝

𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥

[rainatdusk]

hello to all that have come across this blog, on purpose or by accident.

before starting to post the words that i oh-so-merely constructed into sentences, stanzas or lyrics, i wanted to let it be known that the setting up of this accounts has been long overdue.

not one, not two, it took me three whole years of contemplation to conclude that this account will be the place i will put out all the products of my thoughts. not because i have to, but because i want to. because my teenage girl brain with the heart of an old grandmother wants to.

i want to post up all the thoughts that run through my head and pierce through my heart at times when i see the rain fall or feel the dusk hover. those same thoughts that linger in my head, not permitting me to fall asleep at night, but disappearing ever so conveniently as soon as the sunlight hits the sand.

am i to blame myself because i deem these thoughts no less than a stranger each time they come flooding back? i don't think so.

so to keep a track of my emotions and feelings, i volunteered this platform as tribute. although with the feeling of guilt somewhat dawning upon me, i will say: it is what it is.

so bear with this blog for as soon as it lasts. criticism and compliments are both heartily welcomed.