alas, I did not have words potent enough to write with the ink that lived in your eyes.



prompt: ghosts

[This was written in response to a prompt about ghosts on tumblr. Wrote it in less than 5 minutes, so it’s not exactly polished]

‘Where does love go to die?’ you asked.

‘It doesn’t.’

You stared at me long and hard, like a child trying to figure out if she was being lied to.

‘Love doesn’t die. It haunts you forever.’

‘But I don’t believe in ghosts.’

elements: water

people always talk of love as a flame, a passionate fire.

I think we’ve got the wrong idea. I think we’ve always been wrong about it.

see, a fire usually starts with a spark, blazes furiously like a star and then fizzles out to glowing embers

that would imply love eventually fades.

no, now I think of love as an icecube held between warm fingers.

or even that fat snowflake that landed on your nose.

it may slip,

it may melt,

it may even become a puddle of water;

but even in its newfound form, it’s always there.



and after all, even ice can burn.


No, I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to talk about her, or how you were ‘right’ about the whole thing. I don’t need you to say ‘see, told ya’. I don’t need you to ask how I am doing. I don’t need you to say anything.