identity is a fickle thing, switching from one day to the next, sloshing around like liquid in a jar.
you are a genderless being, but are you really? what makes you think you can call yourself one thing? is this not all a man-made riddle?
the answer sleeps somewhere with the stars, unreachable.
so you drift off in sweet smoky spirals and hazy lines.
if you are one thing, it is a conundrum.
bumping into a dark, handsome stranger in the street late at night, he catches you as you stumble and looks deep into your eyes with a stilted grin, asking your name.
and as you fail to meet his gaze, alibis and despair slipping through your fingers, you can't seem to find the answer.
YOU ARE READING
Short Stories
Cerita PendekWelcome to my writing space, where I post random one part stories of all shapes and sizes for you to enjoy! There's a variety of everything in my mind, so there'll be a variety of everything here!
