Yesterday, again, someone asked me when I’m going to start writing seriously. I told them I’ve been writing quite seriously, professionally even, to which they replied, “No, I mean, not for money.”
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Years ago, I wrote a blog on how one must go about procrastinating effectively (with tons of life advice from yours truly). Now it’s floating around somewhere in the depths of the internet, so I thought I would write up a quick refresher on how not to stop procrastinating until it’s too late. I wrote this, of course, while procrastinating one of the side-projects I’ve been meaning to start on the weekends.
it’s better, i think, when break ups end on sour notes.
not sweet melancholy, but lost fingers on unloved instruments
freeing, soothing somehow even,
dripping melted iron, no broken cutlery,
only anger that burns and feeds.
it would take too much maturity
to let you get away with any pieces of me left,
if i didn’t have some resentment clinging onto my person.
to you, who were my friend,
it breaks me how for people once so fond,
apathy is the last matching cloak we wear.
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reflection
would there be a way to bottle petrichor
to return to peace on a whim
open up my window of perfumes
the blissful damp spell of earth
when trees wave tenderly in chiding whispers
dust settles, but the quieter winds are hard at work
once it’s still, gentle rustles, impregnable dark
those with business outside breathe in the emptiness
a fleeting moment forgotten when night changes
and inside the chaos lingers, builds,
few know how to hold on to the sapience of petrichor
and none who would ever fill me in.