Past

A walk past the trees in the backyard, out of the familiar gate we used so often. The air smells of fresh apples and cinnamon, so sweet I couldn't help taking a few more breaths. Steps ahead of the mud wall, a figure shifts herself with difficulty and finally staggers out of the cab. In her late sixties, I thought. Her face was gaunt, sunken with creases at her chin and at the side of her eyes, so intricately connected as if they were scripted right there from the start. A wave of nostalgia hits me unannounced and I shift my previously static gaze to the tree that towered above the flats. Sunlight flickers through the leaves and warms my cheeks. I move a few steps forward, onto the sidewalk. The road has become unusually quiet. The old lady has gone. I am left on my own. I look up into the horizon and somewhere among the tinge of blue, I caught a glimmer of your presence.

Passion

A flashback. Two years ago. I recall the first time when I read that poem. The theme was love-hate. I couldn't interpret it. Because I never imagined one could love and hate someone at the same time. I used to think love always exists by itself. Without any speckles of impurities. But that moment changed my entire mindset and made me ponder for a while. A long while. Love, does come in many forms. Sometimes more than you could imagine. Mostly a combination of emotions.
My emotions are easily affected by the poems I read and feel deeply for. I was just wondering, maybe I'm contented with dying while I pen down the last word of my life. I never want to stop writing.