november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind



Personal Space

Read up on proxemics, stranger,
my amygdala just had a fit.
There is a clearly defined
area you should not invade,
it is called personal space.
We are not in an elevator,
yet you are mere millimetres
from having to marry me.

So back off,
you are standing
too close.


© november child
photo credit: via The Guardian


Again, you wear
a cloak of avoidance,
your impenetrable armour
against which all questions
bounce off unanswered,
birthing a thousand
new queries in ones’ mind.

Regardless of the seeds
of trust one plants,
you thrive on detachment,
the telltale signs hidden
behind an affable persona,
until, in the wake of your evasions,
ones’ willingness to try is spent.

However deeply one delves
into your defences,
you never volunteer a clue,
instead try your hardest
to obscure
the way to your heart,
lest it be broken.


© november child
in response to: The Sunday Whirl Wordle #271
and Volunteer
photo credit:


Five more mornings
when the pink tinted glow
of  a far away sunrise
will greet you before
I even go to sleep.

Five more days
of  dim sum and chow fun,
the tastes of which
I am unable
to steal from your plate.

Five more evenings
as you wander
packed foreign sidewalks
on streets whose names
I am incapable to pronounce.

Five more nights
of reaching into empty space
before wings of steel
finally take pity on me
and carry you back across time zones.


©november child
Photo credit: Cory Hatchell via flickr


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