The Creations

As I matured, so did the walls. As I got older, so did the people. I repainted my walls once every year, and each time I repainted, the make-believe stick figures that were once there gradually became people. Real, alive, and thriving individuals that I gave life to. With a simple flick of the wrist, stories would be told from each and every person. At night they would guard me from any impending doom, and in the day they would become companions for me to sit beside as I did school work or read. They would take care of me when I was ill, and they would serve as an audience for when I danced. They were the most interesting people in the world, and would always be until I grew old enough for my imagination to completely fade away.

The Nuance

Play it one more time please, I need to hear it again. I need to make sure that its the only sound in my head. Play it again for me, I want to hear it once more. I want to make sure the only sound is correct. I don't want to hear that stare again. I don't want to see those words. I'll play the part again, I need to play it again. I need to make sure that every note is right. Give me a second to rehearse that part once more, I haven't been playing it right this entire time. I know it might sound right to you, but it doesn't sound right to me. I can't hear those words anymore. I never want to see that stare again. I have to keep playing. I never want to hear that again.

The Times Gone By

Tick tock. All day. Every day is tick tocking by. There is no clock in your office that ticks or tocks, but you can hear the tick tock in your head. Tick. That's another second of your life gone, you think. Tock. That's one more second waiting for the man to tell you what to do. Tick. I'm a thinker, you think. Tock. Time to be a doer. Tick. You walk into your boss' office. Tock. I quit.

The clock stops.

The Nursing of Sins

"Animals don't have any money, do they?" You asked me once, when you were very young.
"No. Not a penny." I replied.
"Why is that?" you wondered "Why have humans turned their misery into coins, that they can actually hold?"

The Time and Time Again

It takes soul-deep restraint to sit here like this. Counting the minutes until I can stop counting minutes. Waiting for the second when I am no longer waiting. How incredibly nice it would be, to float in time without an anchor.

The Art of Finding Flaws

Maybe that's all it means, to grow up; to watch your heroes become human, right before your eyes.

The Silence Goes On For Years

In case of emergency, break glass. Throw plates. Cave to the insecurities you've harbored all along. Scream. Curse. Panic. Accuse her of never loving you, even though you know she did and still does. Tell her you never loved her. Tell yourself. Feel the world crumbling around you. Rip the rest of it down. Ignore her pleas. Her tears. Your regrets. Watch yourself leave, unable to stop your own feet. Slam the door. Keep walking. Realize, too late, that you didn't mean it.

The Things We Miss The Most

The cold autumn sun seemed far too bright for me as I stepped out onto the dusty patch of earth. For the first time in many years, orange had turned to blue and white, a number replaced by a faded logo of some long-forgotten band. Behind me, the steel gate slid shut, locking me out of the only place I had ever really called home for more than six months at a time. "Must feel good to be free," called the guard. But I didn't feel lucky. Just lost.

The Synaesthesia

It's not yet winter. A few of the birds are still here, and their songs send thin green shockwaves through the sky. As I enter the convenience store, the little bell suspended from the door showers me with harmless pink sparks. Mrs. Nguyen is happy to see me. I ask her for the usual: a large light and sweet in a to-go cup. The coffee is drinkable, as always, but it tastes a lot bluer than usual. I let Mrs. Nguyen know that the milk she's using is about to go off. Have you heard, she says, They're tearing down the nice old houses across the street to build condominiums. Her voice is tinged with orange. She continues, Sometimes it seems like this city gets less and less colourful every year. I shake my head, You're right, but we'll get by somehow. People can adapt to anything.

The Night Sky

I have fallen far too deeply in love with the stars to ever fear the night.