The part of the story no one talks about.

I couldn’t quite see her face. I could, however, see a reflection thanks to the rays of the fluorescent bulb from the bathroom that splashed into my bedroom. Nonetheless, I could feel the intensity in her voice; a complex mix of pain and regret.
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“Travellers, there is no path, paths are made by walking.”

It might be the Holy Spirit or an ancient self, directing its youth whatever it is, it whispers.
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The yoke of all things.

She was tired, completely languid yet she righteously carried her yoke sculpted from the weight of all things. She shrunk from the intensity of her pain while striving to dodge playing kids and reckless drivers who seemed equally sunned. Then, she noticed a building with a cross on it. Continue reading “The yoke of all things.”

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I need one more scroll… I have time.

“Just one more scroll, then that’s it.” Same thing I told myself barely ten minutes ago. I knew this would happen, I always did, I might have resisted it initially but now I’m becoming consumed by its frivolity-a true citizen of the web. Continue reading “I need one more scroll… I have time.”

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The Yellow Bus.

Moving at an accelerated pace, it makes only abrupt stops in a bid to either take in more into the already stuffed space or create a brief relief of dropping off.

Its badly scrapped surface barely able to preserve its yellow colour, giving an impression of stains rather than intended colouring with an even more pitiful interior; a real eye sore telling tales of long-suffering passengers. Continue reading “The Yellow Bus.”

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For All You Know, These Might Be The Days You’re Moving To

There will be days, maybe tomorrow or in the farthest future. But those days will come. They have to come for they have outlasted their waiting period. Those days will bring with them all that was stolen from yesterday. 

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