Serey Timorthy

  an essay of  peculiar feelings the 20s, damn!, it’s such a unforgiving time of life, and it’s just seven full moons in. apparently, i watch people moved away, far far away, ‘tis the season of great lost and i believed it is a temporary good-bye. that was i why i    forgave and it’s not even jealousy, it’s actually just bed-ridden fears and anxiety.  and it’s not that my tree bare less fruits. You spoke in lyrics of songs you resonated with, my language was the songs I stimmed.  To go on with life, walking past tree, whose leaves are forgotten cruel promises, hanging evergreen. I go on with life after ever-repeating unforgettable and enchanted beguiling nights, you go on with yours, the agony stopped in synchronicity to the time you slipped from my memory. A precocious child grew up to feel worthless, I hate it here. Face-savers, self-loathers, passive-aggressivers, people-pleasers, bean-spillers, narcissists, self-doubters, fake-laughters.  Only once...

  Kampot Season Hey you, You look like you could cure me of all my summer aches. You have the resemblance of a man I pictured holding my hand. You, Are someone who could stop me from going to the site where all dignity burn away like bonfire during summer day. Hey you, You drove past me, sundown rush hour. I remember you were someone who had me wishing you were someone queer like me. Could’ve just told me your uninterested in dating same gender and I could’ve gone on as I was. I could’ve hurt less It doesn’t seem just and it is so wrong. I have some possessions of mine in my phone that they’d judge the structure of my bones and soul if they saw. Who wants to be with with me anyway?  Just like every other things, I can’t find gratitude in. Who wants to hold my hands anyway? They all think gratification is all I seek. Who wants to go out to dinner with me anyway? If they knew I only sit and mellow when alcohol take power. But, You! You look like you could tolerate me enough to w...