poem
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The car rides back to the airport Are usually silentExcept for the occasional sighs of my father.My mother’s wrinkly fingers would slightly touch mine,Huddled together in the backseat.It’s an hour’s journey ,As if to fill the silence,My uncle curses potholes and reckless drivers.I turn to the window,Hiding my face from those around me.Lest they see
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Everyday I love you a little less, Unwinding myself out of love Like how the clouds burst into tear drops when it can no longer hold And yet when the drops fall They flow into non existence. Merging with the larger. I be a formless drop In thy ocean.
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