familiar surroundings, the blue towel is a sad towel

the uncomfortable pillows look like restless humans.
the orange bedsheet is angry.
the blue towel is a sad towel.
it’s only a little cold now. it’s only a little hot.
the fan moves at a speed that reminds me of grandma’s soft coughs.
sweet and spicy. not sweet but spicy. a love for the flavors of feeling
the wholesomeness of having spicy guava by the beach.
sometimes, the wind moves like it is an obligation to move. sometimes i feel more feathers on my skin than on a bird’s. some days stretch as long as papa does after coming home late.

isn’t it a pity how stars so afar only seem to twinkle? i wonder if there’s a distance at which they don’t even shine.

what does it take for you to smile?

sometimes it is hard to explain.
it looks like some flowers know how to express themselves better than i do.