Alas, I reside in the dark.

Your text this morning, and my heart, aching.
I’m sorry, my dear, I’m sorry.

Your life in the light cannot be defiled by the darkness where I reside in.
So I’m sorry, my dear, I’m sorry.

Maybe, rumours of my darkness would speculate amongst you and your lights.
But I live in darkness with my inaudible screams.
Silent. Silence.
I’m sorry, my dear.
I’m sorry.

I’d be that shadow in your past and that thinning smoke that you’ll one day come to forget.
And it’ll be alright, maybe. I think, maybe.
But till then, I’m sorry, my dear, I’m sorry.

The mornings you didn’t expire

You wake up, disappointed. You woke up.
You tell yourself that you’ve got to try harder tonight.
Maybe, you won’t be breathing tomorrow.

You go on with your day; doing necessary things. Breathing.
The bleakness of the situation bearing down on you.
You go on, breathing.

You know you belong to the league of the defiled and the profane, but you try.
You resist that title; you reject that label.
But one step forward, two steps back.
You never proceed, you’d never progress.

So you go on with your day, doing necessary things. Breathing.
Knowing that you’ve ruined the lives of the people you love,
but you shamelessly go on, breathing.

Because today, you’re still the living.
And the living, will still have to live.

Some nights, you want to die.

You wouldn’t want to die at home, no.
Because the place is rented.
Because if you did, the kids will know.

You wouldn’t want to die in a car accident involving another car, no.
Because the other car would have the living.
Because the dead will go but the living has got to live.

So you drive reckless
Hoping to get that accidental slip-of-a-hand
Hoping to crash into a tree and have a branch jab you straight into your chest
Hoping to crash into a wall and have the shredded pieces of the car pierce right into your vital organs
But you got home safe
And that’s disappointing.

Then you cried. You kneel beside your bed. You curl up on your chair. You cried.
And you wish, if you will yourself hard enough, maybe you’ll die. Maybe you won’t wake.
And those plans, those glorious plans, those you made with people you love
Those plans you were never sure if they would come to pass
You would not see the light of them.
But it’s good, because you’re gone.
Because all has ended, and you’re no longer that living thing who has got to live.

Hey, happy birthday.

The laminated card in the drawer; it was meant for you.
But that very same year, we ended up lamenting for you.

You left before we could say ‘happy birthday’.
You left without our goodbyes.

But hey, happy birthday.
I would give you peaches if you were here.
But alas, you’re not.

I don’t hate you, I think.
But I probably don’t love you too, unfortunately.
Because when you left, the living had to live.
And it was horrible; for me it still is.

Yet I guess, there’s still much to be grateful about.
But when the living has got to live, it’s not always a good thing.

I miss you, though.
Your fat torso. Your spiky stubble. Your scar. Your scent.

I know you loved us.
But I’m sorry. It was, and probably still is, tough.

So hey, happy birthday.
Wherever you are, have a good one.

His face

Seeing his face was like experiencing Christmas in a glance.

It’s like admiring those pretty fairy lights hanging on trees.
It’s like appreciating the evanescence of fireworks lighting up the skies.
It’s like the excitement of opening presents and the thrill of giving special things to special someones.
And it’s like feeling that sense of bliss and comfort, knowing that loved ones are right beside you.
…all at once.

Seeing his face is that burst of excitement and the blush of embarrassment.

It’s like reminiscing the mountains and appreciating the valleys.
It’s like that lingering bittersweet taste of rich dark chocolate; one that makes you crave for more, but bits at a time.

His face. His voice. His eyes. His smile.
It felt like a split second. It felt like eternity.
It felt like warmth on a cold winter day.
And his face is exactly like Christmas in a glance.

The Morning After I Killed Myself By Meggie Royer

The morning after I killed myself, I woke up.

I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.                                    

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.

The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.

The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.

The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.

Wow. I wonder.

The Hao

The Hao FINALLY set foot in Aussieland! (: Oh boy, I miss this man terribly.

And because we’re similarly weird, we ended up only taking photos when the rest of the gang joined us for dinner. And really, they’re such cool people!


It’s amazing just being amongst them. I doubt I’d ever be able to blend into groups again; I have come to realise that I’m just not that sort of person. I prefer one-to-one relationships as opposed to one-to-two or more. But just noticing how they have their differences, how they call each other out and yet never saying things with any hint of judgement, leaves me in awe.

It does make me contemplate much. Maybe, it isn’t so much that I’m bad in group settings. Maybe, I just haven’t found the right group of people who would accept my flaws and idiosyncrasies without a tinge of judgment. Maybe, I’ve just been hanging around the wrong group of people all along. And maybe, one day I’ll prove all my maybes right!

Well, that probably explains why I never seem to be hanging out in groups for long anyway. 


You sank too low. But that totally justified my decision to cease any form of contact way before the full extent of your drama exploded.

Believe what suits you. At the end of the day, no matter how flawed I am, I don’t deserve to be verbally abused by you like this.


Dear Stranger

What happened to us?

Dear Stranger,

I saw you from afar, but I could not find that familiar pair of eyes I used to know. I remember it to sparkle with life and happiness. I remember it to be joyful and full of curiosity. I remember you.

But the pair of eyes I saw yesterday was full of pain and strain; a pair of eyes so distant, I wasn’t too sure how to approach and what to say.

What happened, my dear friend?

I wish I could’ve shamelessly insist on my position as your friend, but that form of obtrusiveness isn’t part of how I am. Yet I guess, my lack of this fighting spirit led to a divergence of our paths, bringing us to that point where we can only look at each other from afar, reminiscing about a past we once shared but no longer having any impetus to approach a possible future together.

I’m sorry, my dear stranger. My idiosyncrasies were too much for two. But I’m sure you have better friends now; those who might be able to bring back that light in your eyes. And one day, maybe, I’ll see those eyes sparkling with life and zeal once again. That, would be a future of you I would look forward to, even from afar.

I loved you, my lovely stranger.

Radio silenced,
Your unfamiliar being