~august/fictionflaws

short story.

i am still on my teenage. i must say this is my most excruciating and painful journey i could ever think of. instead of making friends and enjoying, i am taking pills and working on myself. it doesn't feel bad to see other people having fun but sometimes my innerself blames herself for all the pain and i understand her very well.

There seems to be a lot of good and beauty happening in my life and in the lives of the people around me.

I don't know if there's just a lot of excess luck in the air, but I channeled the Good Vibes into this Wizard Froggo.

✨🐸 May they bless you with similarly good vibes. 🐸✨

Clarice Lispector, tr. by Ronald W. Sousa, The Passion According to G.H.

i will end up disappointing people if i do something for myself and that is fine.

poetry.

there's always something i hide, something i whisper to myself at middle of the night.

-august/fictionflaws

The Letter to Nobody

Dearest,

It is cold today. After a week-long heat wave, the bay area has cooled down. It even rained the other day - what a treat!

The rain has clarified the skies. I didn’t know the blue of the Californian skies could be any bluer. But they could. They have: And they remind me of home.

I am inundated with assignments. I read most of the afternoons. I don’t remember my eyelids being tired this way. This tiredness is new to me, as are the golden sycamore leaves, the souvenirs of autumn. My first fall in the US, tired from reading stories all day long.

Fall.

Such a terse, poetic name for a weather.

You were startled by my admiration when I first admitted it to you. I suspect it struck you as incorrect. In a way, you were right.

Why should the spring buds admire the fall? Why should they indulge in the promise of death, decay, falling?

Fall. 

It is relaxing just to even pronounce it out loud. My muscles groan. In the distant skies, the clouds have thinned out into round patches that look like doily. I smile. I always wanted to learn crocheting. I know I never will. But I will look at doilies and I will look at doily-looking clouds and tell myself I wanted to learn crocheting. Why do I do this? Who am I lying? And I am not even lying. I would like to learn crocheting but only if life was a little longer than it is. I shift my gaze back to my screen. Words. I love them. 

Rustle. Why do I have to be distracted like this?

A swarm of desiccated sycamore leaves. It is cute that they always travel in a band. My windowsill is their nestling place. The specters of autumn. 

Is this a goodbye? Are you here to say goodbye? 

I say goodbye out loud. The leaves receive my idiocy with solemn indifference. 

Indifference. You pretended but you couldn’t be half as indifferent as these leaves. 

I never understood why you, with all your appetite for the unknown, should be threatened by the admiration. But admiration is threatening. In old french, it means to regard the person in awe.

It is threatening to be regarded with awe. What if we couldn’t live up to it? What if our existence contaminates someone’s pool of awe? Will we be able to live with so much guilt?

I understand you better now. Now that you are gone.

You indeed disappointed me. You faltered when it mattered the most. You betrayed my trust more than once.

Strangely enough, life is setting up a reverse drama for me. I have a far younger boy approach me with the admiration I had for you. And I feel burdened. I try to tell him that this is stupid. And it is. I know it is, because I have been stupid. But he persists. He brings me tea and chocolates.

I am waiting to break his heart. But that is the only way forward. Doesn’t mean I didn’t care for him. I want him to fly higher.

You are dead. Every day, life teaches me how/why to forgive you. I forgive you. One carelessness a day. You were also petty. Just like me. None of us can rise higher than our fears. At least, not all at once.

I forgave you this today - your suspicion of me. 

- bhushita

i never adored any gold more than the fall, this moment of year.

it says something. it speaks warmth to me and abandons me in frozen land.

but still again after all, i will be waiting for it.

just as it names itself fall, i remember myself. i recall the time when i fell like those fallen leaves and noone stood to pick me up. instead i have been stamped over by all those shoes and dirty feet untill snow falls as well just to cover me and lessen my pain. sky feels so miserable and cold that it cries for me, to save me.and i couldn't be more thankful to anyone and anything.

none of those golden makes me delightful more than the sunset beside yellow leaves as if it cries calling night.

-Autumn

-anonymouslie_

what doesn't kill me makes me want to die.