Photographing a jasmine at the end of a dying branch; beautiful yet destined to whither, begging to be saved.
saving the last and only of the bulbs to still live on a strand of fairy lights, destined to flicker alone.
corpses of a swarm of unique moths each a piece, preserved in a matchbox that once dived into the irresistible beauty of a flickering flame on that stub of a candle in its last few breaths.
caressing a broken string dangling off a forgotten guitar that doesn’t remember how it feels to sing.
trying to fondle the ghost of a cloud drifting off to keep away from the stereotypical silver-lining on a twilight for it doesn’t care.
memories of a hunger that once started to die away slowly, not because its been relinquished, but for it’s been fed so many tears.
striving to hold on to those pieces of what’s left of a heart that cut deep into the palm, redrawing the lines on it as I tried to hold on to them fiercely.
These are my only mortal possessions apart from your memories.