The Period Between

there’s a period
at the end of a sentence

when the line is done
and the point has been made
conclusive.

but some of the statements
you hear are idiotic

when their table
has no periodic.

it’s a simple
lack of chemistry.

the point being made is—

some people
were only meant
to complete the thought.

—

there’s a period
stamped on a period of life.

the end of a sentence
to something
you thought was right.

and ours?

i thought
i knew why.

i wanted more.

you didn’t move
the same.

then one day
i saw enough

to make distance
feel easier

than explaining
the pain.

you tried to speak.

i answered
with silence.

eventually—

you learned
the language.

—

months passed.

just enough time

for two people
who knew each other

to learn
how not to.

we could pass
without a word.

stand close

and somehow
live at a distance.

you mirrored mine.

i mirrored yours.

until mutual destruction

started looking
like mutual pride.

two people
with chemistry

standing
on opposite sides.

—

a period

doesn’t erase
what came before it.

it only tells you

that sentence
is finished.

—

then somehow

we ended up
at the same table again.

at first,

the silence
still remembered us.

then one word.

another.

a laugh.

another.

and suddenly

the conversation
became periodic.

—

birthdays.

cars.

family.

school.

relationships.

the lives we lived

while neither of us
was asking.

and somewhere
between all of it

i realized—

i wasn’t choosing
my words anymore.

i wasn’t trying
to make them land.

i was just

speaking.

—

maybe we never
lacked chemistry.

maybe we lacked
the reaction.

two elements
sharing the same space

while one wanted
something

the other
couldn’t give.

maybe i was waiting
for the reaction

before i gave
the elements

time
to meet.

—

and when i couldn’t
change the reaction,

i removed myself
from the equation.

—

i’m constantly
rolling the dice,

so i know
i’ll pay the price.

but i can’t help
but smile

when i look
in your eyes.

where this goes—

i don’t know.

—

the old sentence
already ended.

the strangest part

was discovering

that after months
of nothing,

something
still knew

how to speak.

—

so i see
the period

not once,

but twice.

add another one—

and what looked
like an ending

becomes…

something
left unsaid.

—

another sentence.

two people

meeting again

after the period

changed
the way

one of them
reads.

— Mr. Mak


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

back when we were kids

back when we were kids, life was nothing but light, pavement, and laughter. longboards gliding down the trails, basketballs echoing through the evening air, music spilling out of those old ‘90s retro speakers we’d find in our parents’ basements — static, bass, and freedom. no phones glued to our hands, no pressure to post — just company. just presence. the world was wide open, and the only rule was, “come home before it gets dark.” we never cared. we always pushed it — one more ride, one more laugh, one more stretch of freedom before the world called us back. me and manvir — two kids who thought forever was real. we’d cross that broken bridge just to reach the other neighborhood, gripping the guardrails like our lives depended on it, pretending it was life or death — and in a way, it was. ’cause that’s what being a kid felt like: every small thing was everything. we didn’t know what healing was, didn’t need to. life hadn’t scarred us yet. we lived like every day was a movie we didn’t h...
Read more

lonely at the top

i know for me to climb to the top, i have to witness my idols get knocked off the mountain first. i’m only 25. my reign hasn’t begun, and i’m already measuring my fall. i remember watching from the fence— older kids running the slides the wrong way, hanging upside down from monkey bars, moving like time was endless. i waited my turn. dreamed of the day i’d finally be let outside. and when it came, the playground was empty. they didn’t lose the game. they just left it. pockets too grown. love diluted into club champagne and women— noise where meaning used to be. every day i grow, i feel this longing— to replicate this with my brothers. but then the days hit. i see them stuck in the same places, running out of patience, out of complacence. it hurts to not see them with me. maybe it wasn’t even them. maybe it’s really me that changed. damn. it wasn’t even them. it’s me that’s changed. i see myself at the pearly gates, every choice tilting the scale— one step closer to the abyss, my fallof...
Read more

one with the seasons

  i see it now — a creator releasing his second book on his 26th birthday… that’s not luck, that’s alignment. that’s your life syncing with the seasons the same way your breath syncs with your chest when you’re locked in. i’m realizing i’m getting back into that mode — that mode where my actions become one with the earth’s cycle, where every season becomes a chapter, and every chapter demands a different version of me. winter winter is the dark night. reflection. inner sharpening. the season where men disappear to become dangerous again. nights stretch longer, streets go quiet after the sun drops, and the wolves come out to feast. this is the season where i write the heaviest pieces — the ones born in silence, the ones that feel like prophecy, the ones where the page becomes a battlefield. winter is when i lock in my voice. winter is when the real work happens. spring spring is rebirth. expansion. the softening after the storm. it’s when the ideas...
Read more