unspool and crystallize

the little random and spontaneous things


It was a round bush
With tiny violets
They were fragile
But I found them pretty

I wanted one
And keep it between pages
You said you’d pick me the prettiest violet
And so you did

Now it’s in chapter twenty-seven
What were the violets called? Never found out.
So how exactly do I recall?
By allowing my thoughts to touch you

They were violets
And they were fragile.


You make me sad in so many ways

and it annoys me cause I have

no right to feel this way.


He scattered specks of glitters

Across her obscured hemisphere.

He hung a crescent illumination-

A sliver of his dawn.

She fell off track of her orbit

As he defied gravity.

Now everything is unfathomable yet

i m p e c c a b l e.


You make me exponentially happy but I get scared at where this is going.


We’re pretty close — and like what all close friends do, we play pretend. Pretend that you’re the boy who’s trying to chase me and I’m the girl who’s holding back her feelings. I’m the shy type, so I’d laugh it off every time you play your game. But slowly and carefully, I am catching your drift. And I think I’ve reached that point where my feelings are neither black nor white and it’s keeping me awake at night.


When I lean my head on the table

Or when I zone out of reality

It’s neither the rest nor the solitude that calms me down

But the way you gently play with my hair

Or pat my head as you ask, Are you alright?


It’s funny how when you’re explaining things, you are actually looking at me but when I turn to listen, you cut off your gaze.

It’s one of those tiny fragments of shyness you show that I’m falling into.


You told them it’s between you and me; our little secret. It wasn’t much to hide about, but concealing it through our silence and occasional glances made me feel slightly special and victorious above all other girls out there. I know, it’s wrong to assume.

Dear You

Dear You,

I knew I’d see you tomorrow and the day after. We never talked except for the casual thank you’s and excuse me’s. But that was enough, you know? Just seeing you. The way you never smile when you’re focused at what you’re doing. The way you click your pen when you’re thinking. The way you chuckle out a laugh. And I’ve noticed this, too: the way you throw careful glances when I pass by you.

It’s been two weeks since we stopped our routinary schedule. We don’t see each other anymore. Only the thought of you remains and blurry images of you flash before my mind. I was scared of this. I knew my feelings would disappear. And it did. I don’t feel it anymore. And I miss it, but I can’t seem to grasp it back.


Fine With Nothing More

“I like this, you know?”


“What I’m trying to say is, I like us. You and me.”

“But we’re not even together.
We’re just friends.”

“Exactly, that’s what makes us beautiful. We have this thing beyond friendship, but nothing more than lovers.”


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