Loves me, loves me not

Is it my imagination,
this new bond
a thread that appeared
as we met?

Is it an unfolding,
new chapter in the tale
or utterly
wishful thinking,
dressing up a daydream?

I can ponder if it’s likely
for a tie to be one-way
but even if those reveries were true
the key isn’t in my hands.
Will we meet again?

loves me, loves me not cut


What does anyone see, when they look at me?

Thoughts and words make up and split entire worlds; conversing happens through the meeting of a person’s language and perception. As we cut, tape and shape scattered episodes into oceans of stories, mere skill separates literature from everyday life.

And the existence of aliens, fairies, secret passages, hidden forces and parallel dimensions?

None of it is fictional, and everything is fiction.

At the end of the day, it’s all in the personal view.

*Written as a response to daily prompt:

dsc_0295 xxxxx

big phrases and deep terms:
easily displayed they seem
as if, just by saying them,
we could breathe the meaning in.

I am wary when we meet:
dazzling balloons meandering high
losing garments in the face of spike,
their legacy a bare sound.

tales and myths of living life:
cure your soul! love, peace and light!
does lexicon stop where things get tough?
what becomes if certain words are left behind?

“As time goes on, you'll understand. What lasts, lasts; what doesn't, doesn't. Time solves most things. And what time can't solve, you have to solve yourself.”- Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance