*We were the moment of singularity, singularly holding in moments of possibilities that were moments away.

We, in reality, will have already come to pass. We are always the 'were' in existence.

We are the explosion of the big bang and what remains of us is the dead silence of infinite expanse, unreachable distance.*

War is a family of mine. I grew up hearing his name. Our home was littered with trinkets he sent. He was a relative, a close family friend.
War was a traveler, a tourist. We would get souvenir of his visits, conquests for his stories. War was a thief never left a place how he found it.
War is a wretched in law, my mother hated him. He had a claim over her husband in way she couldn't. War just like my dad only loved the sons she had birthed. War never made room for her.
War was sexist, his favourite past time was a walk on my mother's skin. He had jokes with punchines that poked my sister's thighs. War always gazed me with a tiger's eye.
Yet, war was a family friend, always close. War rarely got my father's 'no's.

You, the wind, the soft whispers of your lips always fleeting.
I, a mere tree, the hugs of my open arms always lingering.
You were too inquisitive to stay and i was too proud to ask.

How long will you run, little one,
from alien perfection?
How long will you weigh your smiles on a scale you'd borrowed?
Have you become an immigrant to your own home-
bartering for peace on foreign currency,
begging an imported idol for clemency?

How long will you flee from this alien perfection, a strangness you deemed prestine?
How long will condemn your life
when your eyes are tainted green?

I have always been jealous of how natural it was for her to slip her hands into his, how easily her head fell on his broad shoulder.
I have always begrudged her burdens, how light they looked, that she could simply swing them from her own back onto his, and how simple it was for her to not only win but take his favour.
I have always envied how empty her heart looked next to his emmence love, how ready it was to receive all of it.
I have always hated her, her arms and how they always met his hugs.

"It's not that we love what's beautiful," the photographer said. His eyes still focused on his muse.
"It's just beauty flees in the direction of a lense tinted with love."

Somehow you keep seeing through each layer of my excuses. As if every fiber of your being is aware of every creases of my existence that you would know when I try to smooth them out.
I wonder when your eyes had learned to peak beyond my cloud of lies.

Sometimes faith is nothing but trust in the person you once were, in the love you once had.

I am the greatest heathen in the face of a mirror, when it's 2 am and i'm staring at my picture.
I am a heretic. I am a skeptic, an artist equal to a diety: fit to judge the world on the scale of beauty.
I am lucifer in the light of my reflection. I am satan. Whenever my eyes fall on me, I critic God.

#heresy