There is always light

aftermath

i will never know how many long hours i slept in my mother's arms or maybe if i had ran into my dad's. it isn't a requirement to know except for wanting tenderloin touch of a parent. that's the most beautiful part of our relationship i believe.

you either have it strained or all tidied

there's no intermediate stage.

this is how most of the breaking is rarely, a cut of two at a time. to some its unbearable to others it's two birds in the same rock. sometimes i am confused I belong to neither type.

i held her tighter, it felt like she was drowning over a bridge we had built over home. the bridge had broken and she was collapsing. i felt her warmth taking up cold but she promised about it anyway.

i still feel the kiss. it was the aftermath which concluded my attention to the other sea had haunted breaking ours into two which cannot be merged again.

it was less freedom from the sight i had felt it before for my parents. for so many years i had seen her being the underdog of shining for reflection, i assume that's a part of her i have taken in me. it won't be an understatement if i say internally we agreed upon the stimulation. not all waters are reflection. as if it were just me or maybe her's too, in this lapse we hardly found anything dissolved but our pet cat dipper.

i don't usually see with with other's eyes.it does not bother me. that's not my kind of thinking because it's always a way to suspicion. at a time when we loved i remember someone filling me with thoughts

'but so much of love is questionable'

it indeed isn't. maybe it is now but i cannot tolerate the statement to be a part of what existed before.