Serendipitously, love found them.
Those casted off poems were made by the fool who dreamed
about the moon, though she knew the night had veiled the sky, The glow has been
cold in days of yore. She was unaware that she should have been in the
embrace of the dawn since the night always did her cruel. She found herself
again, all laughter has carved the face since that one sunny daylight guided
her peace. She could not believe what was coming as she once used to wring the
worry from her skin and carry all the certain things about uncertainty but he
doesn't give up on her easily; like a bolt from the blues, she swears she could
make a religion out of imagining them doing the dishes together while sharing wishes. Those July eyes found her; a lover after all and this time's love
feels like graphene; it's him, the one with the dusk-carved brows, thick and
bold as Matterhorn's crest, as if Apollo himself whispered life into a human form,
even made her formed as his own Daphne but the story does not end in sacred Galleria
Borghese where she turned into a Laurel tree and people can only etch their names
along the marble halls; it is a treasure far beyond the smalls. She carries those goodbyes in her throat until the moment their paths curve back into one lane, both of them laughing with wet eyes, setting down what they have held too long. She believes the universe will never tire of bringing them back together, again and again; that's why her heart rests easy.
(rinzsu)
Thursday, November 14, 2024
The door she opens in a dream.
I dreamed of a door where there was none and sunlight folding down the stairs, it was always the core memory of elementary school me getting a music box from my dad every time I have passed an inconvenient exam or when it was my birthday, I don't think I could be happier in these moments at some point. Recently, a couple of days suddenly feel familiar to me, in some mornings I can feel the weather was so amicable as the wind has ever once hugged my body, the smell of an air in some days, proust phenomenon, the olfactory bulb which acts like a filter, located next to the amygdala and hippocampus, parts responsible for memory; worked harder on those day. I recall it as an intense nostalgic feelings, the emotions get stirred to the extent that kind of thought or call it the heart, yearns to travel back in time and relieve those moments, the smells of the air which felt like I was still that kid in elementary school going back to my mom's office feeling relieved after I just had my exam. The brain uses a number of automatic mechanism to determine what information to retain and everything else naturally fades away, I believe that my brain has a strong fondness about the elementary school me who just had her exam. She might have felt nervous before taking it but after it done, she felt a great relief. What could be more scarier than an exam day for a 12 year old me. Maybe life itself has rewarded me with something due to my ragged edges, but it wasn't a music box, it wasn't what I always expected nor something I was familiar with. When I arise in the morning, I think about that precious moment with great pleasure as there wouldn't be any burden little kid me carry, she was just alive and breath there, to think, to enjoy, to love. Now I'm 25, I get sick very often in my adulthood and get my saudade moments pretty often, the recollection of feelings, experiences, places or events that once brought excitement, pleasure, well being. I still frequently visit the elementary school me in 11 years ago, to remind myself that the uneasiness won't stay there forever at least until I pass my exam day, and I started to think that when the earth doesn't want to sit inside me anymore, there are some morning sunrays from my early childhood friends telling me that my armors were made of the same tears and I'm gonna make it again from another lifetime so now I attempt to fill a prescription at a small museum within me for the life has bestowed its gift. Slowly I will be full again and become a field of blooming poppies.
(rinzsu)
Tuesday, May 30, 2023
Heliotropism.
She passed through the dimness of a glass window, the rhythmic nod of her steps marking the beginning of a seasonal rite, beneath the blue canopy of the sky that greeted that Tuesday morning in quiet accord. From the folds of layered coats, she carried her little sun, circling it against the shiver of that cold April.
As she walked, the stretch before her narrowed into a single stem of sunflower she kept in sight. She murmured about wounds long neglected, smiling now and then as if a happiness as vast as a mountain were waiting at the mouth of a weary hollow.
“We are not yet old enough to be wounded and yet we have already burned and parted.”
The man believed God never stands by in silence, yet she thought him a liar; that story would never be reached, as though fate kept rearranging the pillars of its own tale. The woman with the bright, crimson-tinged smile was like Icarus; she tried to gather both dawn and dusk from the pair of beautiful eyes she had met the year before, though it was his ego that became Helios and scorched her first.
Thirty-two fallen suns slipped from their stems at the very ground where she stood— now dead; shedding, birthing a harsh reality alongside the delusion of feeling. From a bed and a room of faithful routines, like a family portrait in which the two of them had never truly existed.
(rinzsu)
Saturday, August 20, 2022
Down in dumps.
And I am thirteen again, maybe from a couple yesterday's ago, or maybe I've never really out of that hell age number. I spent my 18th birthday under the assumption that it might not come back if I tear the past and gulp it down like I could turn to be my own preferred color. I saw the white flag that night within myself, waving high that it was done and put me back to down in dumps, you see me that day smothered in cayenne pepper, I tried to take the used patchwork where people put them on the floor as their doormats. I never used to believe that history could repeat itself, not until fast forward fifteen years and I still wake up to smoke alarms, sometimes I still caught myself carrying those names like anchors which I can't unmoor from, and some other time I have a stout proclivity to drag them into the steep valley while I'm trying to eat grudge with my hands, sit, nine plates on the table, for the only one of me. I don't tell people that loving yourself is like playing piano for someone who can't hear, that it's hitting repeat on anyone's favorite song and forgetting the words, every time it starts over, that it's finding out there's no milk after you already poured yourself a bowl of cereal, it's getting locked in the dark and being told to look on the bright side that loving yourself is like being reminded of what it felt like the first time, you accidentally let go of a balloon as a child, it's drowning without the water, it's the feeling you get when you start to dance & the song ends. Some of butterflies sitting in the backyard of my heart thought of how sad it would be to be shipped back to their hometown but they immediately died in my palms right after I made them laugh now I'm just sleeping with my heart wide open, those children running out and in screaming for help, I see myself jumping off every rooftop in my heart to tell them that it's okay, they don't hear. They told me oh you're so amicable but ma'am I am not kind when I'm hurt, I'm the woman who makes the best catastrophe.
(rinzsu)
Sunday, May 12, 2019
Our symposium.
The girl watching you from her small window in your stomach wonder if you believe in greek mythology about Zeus who had a disquietude by dint of man was originally created with four arms, four legs and one head with two faces, thereupon he divided it into two separate parts, cursing them for spending their lives looking for their other parts.
Are there tallest hearts out there know— when one of them meets the other half, half of his true self, whether he be a young lover or a lover of another kind?
Mine happens to be in a grievous distance, poles apart cities, two countries people measure the gap in the map. I capture mine as a star rupturing out of its own distance, a visual representation of forgiveness, I find myself reading naked orthography from the way he giggles that sometimes sooner I am shapeshifting into the wavelength.
All of a sudden, a thousand years in orbit passed, it discovered a law that ends all misery. It urges my heart to turn 6 again and on spur of moment;
i h o l d
b a c k
m y h a p p i n e s s g a i n s.
(rinzsu)
Thursday, April 26, 2018
Some make homes out of people.
She looked out her window and she felt straightly silly seeing her father's station wagon was sinking into the neighbor's yard. she was taking a water from her favorite magenta bottle that one thursday morning thinking there's been a toxic leak on planet earth, everything's feels like dissociation in chemistry, is the separation of something else, the state of being disconnected. in psychiatry means the same thing. zone out, like in comparison of aristotle nonchalance to his other ideas when investigating the lagoon. She used to think the ways to make her new home planet, but she turned into a grass blade in a briefcase, an army of little lassie poking dandelions through the skin of every creature could hurt her. they heard when she woke up as her own planet, she was pouring out apocalypses from her mouth. Some says the sun has broken fusion and she knew the weather by the way he came and said are you going to cry with me being here? he was a boy who wouldn't grow his painful wings, he used to murder these tiny guts that he saw in his dreams they became a small ghosts since he didn't wash it clean. he couldn't see his own hands it all made it easier for him to disappear. gods cursed him with the mind of ares and the heart of aphrodite but made him human, only human. But now he's more than that, he is the whole someone's galaxy. Some other nights all of his girl's imaginary friends from her childhood came back and the planet was really in danger but he always can survive from her blues and be the soldier in her 10 years old dream war. she has been watching his heart unfold he's just so pretty wearing his softest /softest/ hands, she just sits on top of his heart now and thanks the world for it has forgotten their past wounds, she looks inwards and expands and stretches her heart for him. the ocean wearing its face backwards: welcome, welcome home. Twosome sin with each other together in the light. he keeps growing a door in her chest and all the birds humming there will finally spill into the celestial sphere. She swears that she has been a different heart under every passing sky but in the belly of the world she has never laughed as hard as she does with him. They stopped fighting the world since they taught to wear each other's hearts. One once heard if anyone could have asked her about survival, she would've put his name next to hers on repeat like a proven track record because of his sweetness— her boy's heart is teeth. it's honey. a monument of bodies, a building worship of fists like prayers and eyes like shotgun mouth. it's flower petals, it's hers.
(rinzsu)
Wednesday, February 7, 2018
Eighteen smiles.
These phantom lims need a distraction. /they/ and /their blood/. they take to the town. any town. some nights they can't tell. some nights they want to fill the grand canyon with cement. a boy of wounds, please no more paul revere that will show up on his doorstep out of breath saying "the sadness is coming." (2000s); little boy, childish behavior, younger him. a child full of courage and curiosity. if he was born back in 1611, you'll see his name written in The Six for its essay, wondering why snowflakes always had perfect, sixfold symmetry. the teen him saw the sky like aged lemon shavings. all it does is hurt. I thought he has torn some houses in Jurbarkas, swearing he hates his city. I always know he got sick with the word like "stay". everything they imply. the feeling of leaving, it was always there. it stood in line with him when he bought groceries. it liked the cold spot in his bed. it's calculated and clandestine. it was long before he believes in angels, before he hold a piece of heaven in his heart, now for some days all his girl wants from the world is to hear his sleeping voice on the other side of the phone, she calls him and the static on the phone sounds a lot like love. everything is gentle and soft. (I'll be home safe); sent. (I'll be home safe); received. from miles, she lets him know he makes her happy from the sky picture of his hometown he sends, it once made her into butterfly in a single afternoon. I think he now smiles when he sees pastel colors or wildflowers on the roadside. back in the same month. candles, cake, wishes, gift, giggles. the looks of each other through the screen. I wonder if she made it this year better, did she?
(rinzsu)
Wednesday, April 26, 2017
