Her fingers never stopped grazing mine Sometimes they travelled up my arms, dropping little squeezes along the way Her touch was gentle and delicate — like a breeze that was afraid of bending a flower Yet she says she doesn’t know how to tell me she loves me Advertisements Continue reading Telegram
Learning #calligraphy recently. Decided to do one of my own #poem / #prose. It still sucks, I know 😞 But it's a lot of fun! (≧∇≦) #writing #mood #poetry #writer #writersofig A post shared by Julius Eddy (@juliuseddy) on Sep 23, 2016 at 6:38am PDT Continue reading If She Were A Colour
Do you think you have a say in eating or not when you’re writhing in an insufferable pain from the insidious gastric acid secreted by your stomach? Of course not! You want to eat; and you must eat. This tormenting response invoked by our bodies are deliberately — quite ingeniously too, I must say! — designed to manipulate us into eating. After all, when was the last time you heard someone starving himself to death, accidentally? Continue reading The Will of A Starving Man
What we break—suddenly, abruptly—we feel regret, guilt, a need to fix it.
A toy. Continue reading By the way
Dimly lit and decorated with overly artistic paintings and expensive sculptures, it was not the kind of restaurant I go to. But she would love this place, I thought. Continue reading For Just a Night
There were many ways to kiss her.
There was the ordinary kiss; the peck. Simple, frequent, and habitual.
It is reserved for the smaller things in life. When I say good morning. When she hands me a coffee. When she leaves for work. Continue reading Ways to Kiss Her
If you asked my favourite colour, I’d not have said brown. Continue reading Blue