A BL Story

Two guys walk into a bar and order drinks.

One orders a whiskey sour,

the other an old fashioned.

There was instant chemistry,

and the cozy ambiance had them drinking

to Troye Sivan’s Seventeen –

sipping and swallowing the melody,

breathing in the rhythm,

and ingesting the alluring scent of whiskey

mixed in the atmosphere of quiet conversations.

The lyrics, reminiscent of their wild youth

that has mellowed with age and

the clinking sound

of ice melting in the glass.

The melody, entangled gracefully

with the meandering cigarette smoke

as it wafted from intimate corners.

They found themselves drunk

on whiskey and love.

[If] Atlas Shrugged

You’ve been holding the heavens on your shoulder for so long,

enduring for an eternity without respite.

If you shrug, then the heavens would fall,

and the earth would shake.

Olympus would be thrown into chaos.

Perhaps they’d think you’re inciting another rebellion

– another Titanomachy.

But the truth is, you’ve been thinking of your fellow titans,

your brothers and sisters in arms.

Wondering who has it worse –

your eternity or their suppression in Tartarus?

Guilt prevents you from shrugging.

So you continue to bear the weight of the heavens,

atoning for the tragic beauty of your rebellion.

Instead of “I love you,” I said…

There’s only a few I can recall since

it’s been a while

and the memories are slowly fading

with each day that pass in a blur.

Take care…

Don’t forget to eat…

Take your time. I’ll be here waiting…

Relax…I’m sure you did great!

You were an answer to one of my prayers…

This song reminded me of you…

Let’s start over!

Thank you…

Good morning…

Good night…

I’ll be fine…I hope you’ll be happy

I’m letting go now…

Goodbye.

Insecurity

It never really goes away…

It comes and goes

Like the tide – it ebbs and flows;

Like the waves – it crashes to the shore then recedes;

Sometimes it erupts like a volcano after a period of dormancy

spewing magma from its core and flows along the slopes

scorching everything in its wake;

Sometimes it bleeds out

Like cloth fibers releasing dye when thrown in the wash

mixing in the water – ruining everything else that’s soaked in it;

And the worst thing, perhaps

is how it lurks in the background

of every thought…every encounter…every conversation,

concealing itself within gentle words of encouragement;

It hums constantly at a barely audible frequency

until a trigger amplifies the volume.