Anemochory

A hundred yellowed names
A hundred faceless loves
A bitty bloom of flames
A fleeting flare of fluff

A squeeze of golden ink
A splash of olden past
A hundred tears unblinked
A hundred years unasked

 

Colin Lee

colin-lee-small

Clichédly rhymed and alliterated fluff that happened to germinate in my melancholic element. A week has come and gone since the breather in Taiwan; and I’m once again readjusting to the perpetual cultural shock in this shithole which I’ve found progressively foreign to us locals over the years. Not unexpectedly, another bunch of good friends are moving away this year. It’s a depressing realisation when the majority of chums I knew in my early years are no longer near—poof, all gone with the wind like dandelion fluff.

Photo Courtesy: Pexels
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