Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul



Heart status: Mending


How strange it is to have a broken heart

Shattered not by a person but words

In a clever play of thoughts and emotions

A hopeless romantic heart broke in two

My heart bleeds for the fallen petals

And the wreath upon a grave

Two souls in love but was never together

They could have had better days

The other story that ripped me apart

Was a heart that has lost its worth

Lifeless and withered in a garage sale

For a crumpled 10 dollars was sold

This morning, my heart met an accident. Not the fatal crash of falling in love— or out of it, nor the serious threat to mortality kind of mishap. Simply saying, it’s one of those catastrophic accidents of stumbling over two very sad stories from An Alchemist’s Diary and Rambling Ink in a row. They were very well written, very well done that I could still taste the bitter tang of misery and gloom. My hopeless romantic heart couldn’t help but broke in two.

So, I hope these little astronauts mend it quickly than it should. Until then, I’m afraid, I cannot write a happy thought…

A flipping coin

MFtS 6

She lived a life that some would describe as being on edge.  She’s an untamed wanderer, a drop of free water. She called herself an angel of lust. For lust, as defined by her, is a desire to live every kind of life there is and dream every kind of dream. It is a desire to breathe the summer air, chase the crashing waves, and dance in the rain. She craved for moment, time, and people— for their warm touch and gazes that goes beyond skin.

But just as they always say, there are two sides to every coin.

There comes a time when she can’t keep her demons at bay. When all she could see is destruction, sin, and woe. A time when she turns from being a screaming siren into a muted murmur, running to a place empty of people and buildings and connection and light. A perfect place for fading and getting lost,

…but eventually, for getting found.

Word Count: 150

This is in response to Mondays Finish the Story prompt.

Finish the story begins with:   “She lived a life that some would describe as being on edge.”

PS. I’m feeling rather gloomy today after reading the current events so I ended up with somewhat a prose poem. It’s really distressing to think how living in this beautiful world is a tug of war between life and death, love and misery, faith and doubt, and hope and suffering. Life is such a flipping coin. 😦

Enjoy more stories here:

Flavor of my days

© berlinartparasites (artwork by Jo In Hyuk)

Your soft, gentle kisses on a bright, early morn
The wrap of your arms ‘round my waist when I pulled  you down for a cuddle
The warmth of your breath on my nape sending shivers along my spine
Your stare screaming of sweetness as I look at you in the eye
Your voice with a tang of anger on the night of our fight
The roughness of your touch as you pulled me into our couch
The cold silence between us with nothing but the ceiling and walls
Your stare piercing through my beating heart before you walked out of the door
The flowers and chocolates and teddy bear and the note outside my door
Saying you’re sorry and how you hold me dear; that last night you we’re a fool
The bacon and egg for our morning meal atop the table for two
And a cup of coffee with a heart on it, your way of saying ‘I love you so’
The long stretch of time as I wait for you on our table for two
My restless heart getting edgy as the clock strikes noon
The knock on our door by an officer saying how in a car crash, I lost you
The deafening sound of my anguish as I melt down the cold, hard floor

The recent taste of my every day since the day that I’ve lost you
A brand new flavor to my day by day, in things that I say or do
With you my days were extra—extra bitter, extra sweet, or a mix of both
But now, without you they’re dull, weak, and tasteless; dismal and cruel.

Day 8 in Writing 201: Today is a day of melancholy, loss and, longing. I had this wild imagination that maybe in a parallel world, a version of me had gone through a tough time and lost the love of her life. (I know, cruel!) But anyway, this is her story and this is for her lost love.

Prompt: Flavor
Form: Elegy
Device: Enumeratio

Six Word Story #7: Tears


Tears trickled down betraying his smile.

Here’s for Ben Nicholson’s Six Word Stories challenge with the theme, Betrayal.

Read more creative entries here. 🙂

White Plague

FF 1

Shivering in a sudden ague, he paced slowly as he watched the first frosts set their marks on the cheek of the forest trees, atop the gambrel roof, then down the rough pavement.

He loathes winter. A time when the white plague of coldness would make a massacre of all nature’s glory and turn the trees to naked frames, bleach the bony bare cadaver until the snow covered things up, and remind him how he lost the apple of his eyes.

“Eight years, my love. I still remember the day when you looked me in the eye and I’d feel the warmth that flowers must have felt when they bloom through the snow, under the first rays of the sun. Every single day is winter to me—cold and dead. I miss the sunrays. I miss you.”

He left this merry place of people and balloons and hurried to the graveyard. With heart in despair, he plunged into agony as he withered in the cold white snow before her tombstone.

Better late than never! 😛

Here’s for Friday Fictioneers Photo Prompt inspired by Dee Lovering’s photo. Read more stories here.



She stared down
Trying not to glance at him
As if she doesn’t notice
Yet she saw right through his soul
Even without looking

She turned up
The volume in her head
As if he’s not her music
Yet she heard every word he said
Even without listening

She breathed in
The freshness of morning air
As if all memories have depleted
Yet she could sense his scent
Even without smelling

She wore a smile
Trying not to look hopeful
As if her heart’s not racing
Yet she got a tang of his kisses
Even without snogging

She squeezed tightly
The pillows in her bed
As if that is all she needed
Yet she felt the warmth of his skin
Even without touching


299064_264877023550115_645163011_n (1)

There was a time when the wind, sunbeam, and sky
The long roads and every common sight
To me did seem
Like everything was right.
But in the midst of ruins and shattered shields,
The hour of anguish and crashing down
I ask of you
To stay, still, you left
And as I wake– the wind, the sunbeam, and the sky
The long roads and every common sight
To me now seem
Like nothing’s gone right.
Think of the summer,Christmas, and milk tea treats
Of funny faces and random smiles
In a flash
You came, like a smoke, wanes.

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