unspool and crystallize

the little random and spontaneous things


“Nice one!” I say.

You raise your hand and I smile.

I reply back with a high-five.

It was a loud clap  that lasted for a  second

but you held onto my hand a split second longer.

Sun Dance

July had kept its promise and brought about its melancholic rain. He knew about her hatred towards the weather so he told her about his sun dance in their 3 PM phone call over a cup of caramel machiatto.

He said, “I’ll do the sun dance and bring the sun back to keep loneliness creeping up on you. Just tell me when.” She could almost hear him smug.

“What if,” she said, twirling with the telephone cord. “What if I wanted it now?”

The line went quiet as she imagined him go about his so called ritual.

Yet, the sun never came.

By the evening when the gray skies called in as a substitute for the pink glow of the summer,  he knocked on her door. She swung it open just to meet a man holding out a stem of a sunflower; the yellow covering up most of his face.

“I told you I could bring the sun out.”

She smiled.

There ain’t no sun but I got a sunflower bright enough. 


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.


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