winter break thoughtvomit

The mountain sits, a stark almost-black grey
Deep green trees almost plastered against
The faint outline of puffy white clouds
A strange anomaly


What are you thinking of
As you sit there with your legs folded to your chest
Your eyes a thousand miles away
Whispering strange words on your lips


With you I’ve become accustomed to writing things in pencil,
labels, letters and lines
constantly erasing and redrawing
as the words and spaces between us change.

I was prepared to use a ballpoint pen
as we marked skin.
The ink would stay a bit longer,

But when your words and spaces
refused to match I
desperately scrubbed the ink off with soap
but, some days I still see blue

for the colour of your sweater and
the colour of my shoes when we
met so many summers ago and the
spaces between us began to change.

Now all those things,
labels, letters and lines
are marked 
using an oil-based marker.

Some things are better blacked out.



“The war drops its question mark.”

The hardest meaning structures to make sense of are the ones that you are supposed to be fluent in.

In the worlds that you’ve built you are your own king, but what’s the point of conquering those worlds if the sole population is you? There is no meaning to conquest when it’s a world of your own realities.

Buildings stuck in time.

“And yet everything radiates tension, as if the city has been built upon the skin of a balloon and someone is inflating it toward the breaking point.”

When your eyes close does the world change when they open again?

Growing up means learning to do the things you used to do with other people, alone.

Like what you read? Give hazirah! a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.