Murky grey skies, a plane flew by,
Perched, a sparrow came to say hi.

Stale air, a breath of smog,
Thoughts itching, like a flea ridden dog.

The allure of a well written line, a shaky bridge for those unfocused thoughts,
Even here, even now, there’s a need to put it down before it rots.

I have an idea… sort of… kinda?
If only my mind isn’t like a Mardi Gras.

Riot, fancy, please let me draw it out,
Crows, oh just shut it you screaming lout!

A line or two, a vision it makes,
At least there’s that to let bake.

Dang this, bugger it, I call it a day,
It’s not happening, what else can I say?


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1.  an intense but short-lived passion or admiration for someone or something.
“he had developed an infatuation with the girl”


Temporary and short-lived.  Focus and intensity.

Emotion, too much emotion.

Is it bad to be infatuated too easily? All that crazy emotional roller-coaster, that physical and mental obsession that pushes the senses to an all time high. An addictive passion, a quick flirt.

I’m infatuated, with places.
Places I’ve visited, places I missed.
Places I haven’t seen, but only dreamed about in my ever-growing Pinterest board.
Places I’ve planned, only to postpone, yet again.

I’m infatuated, with food.
The aroma, the taste, the colours.
Everything that brings a plate together, a simple over-complicated pleasure.
Food is satisfaction, food is life. Food is, happiness.

I’m infatuated, with life.
The comings and goings, the who and whats.
And then there’s the why. That incurable curiosity of the unknown.
Reading, learning, thinking. Why.

And then, there’s you.

I’m infatuated, with you.
We talk of things of times way past, of what could happen soon.
That sparkle in your eye, the intrigue it caused.
Drawing me in, deeper into the vortex of emotions.

I’ve laughed and I’ve cried. The overexertion, that mental anxiety. Over-thinking, over-analysing, over-worrying
– and eventually, over-everything. Then it ends.

A quick high, a quick low.

I’ve yearned for the impossible. Infatuated with the desire to feel, say, think of things I normally never would. The pleasure of always growing, always learning, always feeling.

And we both know, the cycle will begin again with a new place, a new food, a new life and a new you.


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A sip of peppermint tea, and another scrape with a ballpoint pen.
The sharp squee of the sliding doors.
Echoes of footsteps on the wooden floor, pattering to the steady rhythm of Earth, Wind and Fire.

“…after the love has gone~”

Another scrape of pen to paper.
Across, the steady typing on a black keyboard.

An accidental upward glance, eyes met.
Confusion. Then, a smile.
Back again, pen to paper, resuming from the interruption.

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Edge of the Line

That moment when you realise that you’ve somehow managed to step off the edge. Again. And now you’re stuck, clinging and barely holding on. Just beyond, the sirens sing – beckoning, urging. Above and below; two parties of warring suggestions.

And you wonder, if it’s all right to let go and drop to the unknown or if it’s safer to claw your way back up.

One voice, soothing and calming. Singing of adventures unknown.
The other, firm and rational. Sharing lore from experiences past.

Your thoughts darts back and forth, a previously forgotten pulse races. One moment clinging, the next, fighting. And truth is, you’re torn.

Because you know deep inside that whichever happens, you’ll say it is okay. That you made the right choice. That it’s for the best. Yet, you’ll know – in that one shadow of your mind, the other voice remains. Reminding, wondering, encouraging. And you know you’d secretly wished you had picked the other.

Risk the climb, or let go and fall.

Dear heart, what says you?

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Those days…

I remember those days when I used to sit at my favourite seat beside the window, nursing a cooling cup of coffee. The slight strain of RnB music streams faintly from the pub a couple of shops down. Sighing, as I went back to work – trying my best to focus in the balmy breeze.

I remember those days when the sun was scorching hot. And panting, we ran across the street for a join the queue for an iced drink. Whining, as we find our way to some shade under the awning of a nearby restaurant.

I remember those days, when it was warm and humid. Friends and more friends around. Taunting, laughing, encouraging… just minutes before they tossed me into the pool. Anger, annoyance, fear, as I somehow waded my way out.

I remember those days, when cash wasn’t easily available. When we’d wander the malls, window shopping for hours, trying to buy time before we caught up with the other half of our group who were still stuck in classes. We’d walk past fancy restaurants serving RM10 tea and wonder, how could they spend that easily.

I remember those days, when I didn’t have to think about ‘those’ days.

I miss.

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Safe Harbour

Sometimes I really wonder…

Is it like a safe harbour, for visiting ships?

Some, like clockwork (weather permitting) returning somewhat regularly, a familiar hull, easing it’s way into the embrace of calm waters. A quick trade and then leaving with the high tide, only to reappear the next season.

Some, appearing with the storm. Swift and sudden. Repairs, necessity, need. And then just like that they leave, never to be seen again.

Then there’s some, who appear in the distance. Decked out in warm cheery lights. Welcoming, beckoning – simply looking for a safe haven and a good night’s company. A calm comfortable presence that eases in and out. Comfort, a familiar face.

And then there are those ones. The ones we’d rather not acknowledge. Regret, disappointment, ignorance and naïveté. Sailing in with all sails furled, flags raised. Charming, different, enigma. And then sneaking out in the middle of the night, quiet and slick. Leaving bills unpaid, hearts broken.

That jerk.

Nevertheless one thing stays the same. In the end, they all leave, setting sail for bluer seas. A quiet hush then falls over town. The harbour quiets down. And then we wait. Wait for the next ship to sail in.

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