The best things happen after autistically
planning, but doing something else, as
long as it keeps handing me sunlight and
some feet to walk, I'll keep walking.

It has always been my dream, but, secretly,
shamefully, I will never dare, losing things
dear to me and ideals. I walk across
a waterway and find my luck in the sudden

movements of two ducks, refreshing in that
very water. Neighbours working, greeting strangers,
children disobeying their mothers.
And old man on the bus comments, I sit
I read, look up, search for the right words and
stop reading.

Quentin felt infinite, so I wanted to let that feeling last.

you immediately feel that there's some kind of unknown forces extracting air out of you moist lungs whenever you caught a glimpse of him, oh the pale complexion of his skin that you yearn all too much to devour.
his smouldering black eyes, darker than onyx yet far more magnetic than a black hole, you could gaze at it all day long. whenever he speaks you could genuinely feel all 4 corners of the walls caving in, his voice was as sweet as an ochesctrated hymn continuously to drive itself into your ear drums infesting every piece of neurons  inside your brain.

he was the perfect fainting spell for you & i am merely a lacklustre, unable to charm you. all i ever knew was to write poems on pieces of paper crumpling them at the end of the day so i could string them up as a rosary that i pray to but now i realise that no kind of prayers was able to break you free from his necromancy.