Der Gersprächtraum

I went inside the boarding house, shocked at what I saw.

You.

“Hi,” you said.

Weird, that the first thing I wanted to ask you was where you’re living.

But I can’t ask. Hell, I can’t even speak, all I can get out of my mouth was just a hoarse grunt.

“Huh?”

I tried again. Nothing. Still the same hoarse voice.

After mustering what seemed all my strength, I finally asked the question.

“Oh, I live here as well, for now,” you answered.

What. A strange feeling swept over me.

“But I live in…Novaliches,” you added.

What, you’re living under the same roof as I–

Morning Dream

Morning.
Half-asleep,
I saw you sit beside me.
For a millisecond,
we looked
at each other’s eyes.
At that instant,
imagining things,
wondering possibilities
of me and you.
How things
could get so good
between us!
But no,
we’re just strangers,
that met
on this morning commute,
after which
we’ll forget
that this ever happened.

Offense

I wonder,
if it’s an offense
to have this longing
of seeing you again,
and ask myself,
“should I?”

—

Image source

Newman x Rainy Day

Oh, bus driver,
how fast can you go?
Bobbin’ and weavin’
along the rain-soaked road!
Oh, bus driver,
keep us in one piece!
Being late is bad,
but worse is being called
“the late one”.

(Not) The Only One

Confused, dazed,
wondering what to do.
Alone and left out by others,
unknowing,
same thoughts
are in their heads.

Pressure

“Be done,”
everyone tells me
silently,
or out loud;
in meatspace
or online.

“Finish it,”
they say to me
all the time,
anywhere;
follow where
others have been before.

“Just start,”
I tell myself
every day,
every night;
“You gotta do this,
ASAP.”

Off to Bed

Sometimes,
the only thing
that keeps me
going
is knowing
you’ll always
be there
for me.

—

Image Source: Questionable Content #3165 by Jeph Jacques

Sorrow

As the rain
starts getting
more frequent,
and the sunflowers
start to grow,
I still wonder,
when do I
get this thing
done?

—

Some context

Morgenfahren

Sky, slightly dark,
with a touch
of cool morning air,
listening to
the ballad sung
by metal and rubber;
amongst tired
and weary
individuals–
finding bliss
at being the only one
aware of the beauty
dawn brings.

Reckless

 C’est fini, they say:
all finished, all done.
Why care, why bother,
about anything?

Try anything, everything
far from
what was there before.
Before it came crashing down.

For you’ve been beaten,
and have nothing
more to lose.