7

Few months back, someone sat behind me in a bus.
Red haired girl or young woman, no one special really.

She peeked behind my shoulders, reading the text i was writing from my pocket fitting moleskin. I took a risk on writing what I wrote, big dreams, big secrets and when I got off the bus she looked at me like she could see through me.

We shared a moment, looking to each others eyes (nothing romantic) and I almost laughed at it. She knew who I was and I will, hopefully, never see her again.

6

Snow.
The whole ugly world drowning in white, gasping for life before dropping the leaves. It's been like this for few months, the cold turns my breath straight to ice and I still refuse to close my jacket.
Dark comes at 5 pm but before the light leaves completely the world turns to blue for awhile. There is a scientific reason for it - somehow the dark dribbles only blue light through it. So many artists and poets inspired by it, and then there is me. Standing on top of a hill and thinking "was that it?"

don't mind me

"I can't stop thinking about grandpas hand," my mother says quietly. "I was holding it and now I just keep seeing it, he's hand."
I close my eyes and turn my face away. I don't do feelings, not even when someone dies.