Sunday, 16 December 2012


Your slightest touch is a word, and in my heart, it blooms into 10,000 different languages. 10,000 different languages and yet, I don’t know how to pronounce any one of them. Every phoneme, every sound, it stops as it reaches my lips. No air inhaled will ever change to a noise.

Your slightest touch is a small fire, and in my mind, it ignites into the most intense light I’ve ever seen. It blinds me, keeping me from seeing the road ahead, and I walk without any sense of direction. Irony, seeing that light is what we should have if we want to see.

Your slightest touch is a seed, and in my soul, in grows into a tree, hundreds of metres high, scratching the sky, hundreds of metres below, cracking the earth’s core. The wind won’t uproot it, the wind won’t ever break the branches. It just sways and sways, and seeping me like water more and more.

Your slightest touch is a moment, and in me, it turns into a thousand years of records. I want it to stop, but each scene is so beautiful, unattainable but so beautiful.