Mostly in monsoon weather
I can’t remember
If it was you or another

The air was thick
The hours were slow
So we went out of hiding

We scanned the sky
And only found smudged watercolor
Just another rumor of rain

I held your hand
But even love felt clammy
Under the weather

The canals choked
The sidewalks sulked
Simply no shelter from rain

Was it you then
Held my hand
In the dusk, in the swelter

The clouds parted
The moon came out
Just another omen of rain

—Marne L. Kilates

Nov 25 10:26 with 9 notes

That night, he was a beer bottle
wrapped in cold sweat,
radiating amber light.

The Greeks believed he was a circle.
Nietzsche said he was dead.

But the conclusion of the tale told by fifteen bottles:
God is a bed.

—Lourd Ernest H. de Veyra

Sep 26 6:03 with 8 notes
Perhaps all the questions we ask of love, to measure, test, probe, and save it, have the additional effect of cutting it short. Perhaps the reason we are unable to love is that we yearn to be loved, that is, we demand something (love) from our partner instead of delivering ourselves up to him demand-free and asking for nothing but his company.
The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera

Aug 02 3:10 with 3 notes
Somewhere out in space there was a planet where all people would be born again. They would be fully aware of the life they had spent on earth and of all the experience they had amassed here.
The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera

Apr 23 6:20 with 2 notes