I write because I read. I read because I write.
It starts with the usual scene. The hibiscus bush void of bloom, filled with sharp twigs like fangs of the past, looking at him from his bedroom window. The door less-an-inch open like a defeated sigh. The bedsheet crumpled, free of human warmth. The duplicate cold key, slouched. The screech of tires against the gravel… Continue reading dawning dreams: a 100-word story
My clingy heart has never been fond of the dawn’s pending fog everyday sitting outside our window, drinking its daily sunrays-made tea as it waits for the official ending of our last night’s nectar-sweet tryst. Another day, another sun, I have to wait for another moon to inhale your scent again. r. c. gonzales –… Continue reading again: an aubade
bed without bodies pillows without tresses, doors only for exit piano void of music, new bulb void of light, lenses with no sight, heart without art, lifetime without life, emp---ty emp---ty emp---ty emp---ty emp---ty the song of me after our we. — 12.12.2019 ©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved. Photo via Unsplash — For… Continue reading the echoes you left
Feet on the edge of a cliff, hanging, hanging, just one more push Mr. Wind. Yet sweaty hands cling, cling, to unseen twigs, not willing, not willing, to dive, deep, deep, into the pit of love. I have always been brave, blunt, honest, but I cannot leap, else I'll be a mess. Yes, I am… Continue reading scared
cr-cr-cr-crack one corner after another, tip-tip-toe carefully, on top of crumbling eggshells. is it, is it a triumph to walk his crushed carpet of survival? w-w-why do we choose to create home inside crevices so fragile? is it called saving? or is it suicidal? — 11.19.2019 ©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved. Photo via… Continue reading questions for soles who crave to walk on eggshells: a quadrille
Pregnant clouds crawl as the voice above growls. While the parched earth opens its mouth thirsty for rainfall, a waiting heart whispers, “wind, bring him home.” — 03.26.2018 ©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved. Photo via Unsplash In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018. X is for Xiaoshi. Xiaoshi, (small poem,shi = poetry /… Continue reading parched (a xiaoshi)
Pain swells in the bosom of a song. Long before the first note of refrain, restrains fail to cease tears from falling. Losing you, I wish will be my gain. — 03.23.2018 ©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved. Photo via Unsplash In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018. C is for Conachlonn. The Conachlonn is… Continue reading bosom (a conachlonn)
how many days will it take for a crawling pupa to hide her legs and grow her own soft cage where she will further evolve into a winged butterfly? how much pain will she survive to transform from a leaf-beggar to a fragile air glider who can freely fly? how many tiny cells hidden from… Continue reading butterfly heart
the gentle whispers of the trees' breeze. the tender murmur of river's flow. the playful tweets of the little birds. these sweet sensual delights are the reasons why we used to visit this river. the river we called ours. today i clutch unto you, unto your vessel. your vessel made of cold porcelain, a stark contrast… Continue reading Our River
My fingers will never be enough to count how many times you whispered you love me most. Love me more than anyone in the world. Love me more than anything on earth. How you want to have a home with white picket fence, where you and me and our four little kids will live with… Continue reading Velleitie
A Reading Writer 