Poetic Stories

The rain seems so soft and friendly. Comforting; as if its entire meaning of existence is to engulf you like a child in a blanket. Simply reassuring you that everything will be alright. This road is beaten and brittle. The cracks quietly outline the years of torture that this road has witnessed. The withered leaves yawn as they try to cover up my mistakes, tired of knowing I won't listen. They pray that I will believe the...

I have forever been a dreamer, and so, I admit, I idealise love in a lot of ways.Sure, I've been hurt, although I prefer not to acknowledge the potentialities, it's almost a certainty that lies in us all. Some instances remain only as distant memories, perhaps only surfacing when songs a once-beloved was fond of grace the airwaves, stilling my heart to ache to the faint beat of nostalgia's echo. Fresher burns may linger,...

The subdued yellow glow of lampposts served as my makeshift milestones as I trudged down the road. Humidity choked the post-storm air. The storm had raged for hours; there had been reports of widespread flooding and destruction. Revealed in the now cloudless sky, though, were the vermiculite wisps of nebulae, a rare sight so close to the city. It was late, and I could not sleep, as my insomnia had become an all too common...