“How much of the world would you have possibly seen?” he asked the 19 year old.
Her gaze unflinching, her face cold and straight.
“Enough to have my heart opened to pain, enough to have it shut forever,” she replied.
There was more to her than a number, he realised.
She had stories to tell.
And stories could move mountains.
I get the smell of gun powder in my house,
the miasma smothering me.
Blasting bombs and terrified screams,
I hear them all.
Stifled by guns, held at close proximity.
There is a war in my closet and I cannot pretend to be blind.
For battles begin in the mind.
And mortal souls merely bear the consequences of lost ideologies.
Too strong, too bold for the weak and the feeble.
Yet we are blinded and defeated by the shine of their sigil.
How long more do we keep mum and look on with faux ignorance?
Has the violence and terror debauched our very conscience?
Picture credits: @iotaimagery
“Tell me your deepest secret,” he asked. The coffee shop was unnaturally quiet. A couple giggled in the corner, their whispers echoing in the silence. He looked around and took another sip of the coffee. They were coffee shop friends and their friendship had begun in silence, when only the slurping and the coffee kept them company.
“I’ve always had a strange fascination for curves, things that were flexible and could flow. I always thought angles were rigid and complicated. Somehow, imperfection always seemed perfect to me,” he answered. “That’s not strange at all,” the friend replied. “Nobody is perfect and life’s always about the curves. I love curves too, it has something so artistic and lovely about it.”
He smiled and nodded in agreement. “The world loves curves, it represents creativity, I’ve always thought straight lines were somehow unattractive and rigid,” the coffee shop friend continued in deep thought. Silence took over again. He reiterated, “So what’s your secret?”
Their eyes met, “I’m not straight,” he replied. His eyes still fixed on him. The friend now seemed uncomfortable, suddenly there was a certain awkwardness around them. He got up to pay the bill. As they left, the friend smiled, “I guess the world is rigid and stale, tomorrow same time?” They nodded and went their way.
The room was full of romantic whispers again.
– Sarah Thomas