Another day passes without your calls,

    my phone a false alarm

for eager minds.

Day and night blur through

windows and

sliding doors,

the light dances in a frenzy as the months

go by.

Ten messages a week, just to see

if you’re okay

in the fields of sand

you need and hate.

Is it possible to melt into the flow

of time,

for geographies

from flesh to be


Missing halves and pathetic coping

in the manner of

mannequin love and 

                                            Misleading  looks

                                  Were my only way

                                                                        To feel 

Your apparition,



A/N: this is just something I wrote while I was enduring hell week last year, to which 

I am going through again this month. Then again, I might call it hell month, since I’m going to

Be swamped with papers and projects for the next three weeks. Ugh. Such is life, beautiful and awful at the same time. 


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