Soirée

Soirée By Ivee E. Manguilimutan

i have tea parties with the skeleton in my closet.

pale white brittle bones sipping teacups, sensing forlorn. clad in frilly victorian dresses— pondering, why was i even born?

devoid of emotions, mr. skeleton shook with haste. a pile of bones trembling— he muttered, “not to live is such a waste.”

i spill tea and see truth, what do we have to live by if we keep fearing?

hollow eyes steel with resolve, he answers: “my dear, life favors those who are daring.”

tea parties won’t always be exclusive; skeletons are bones that once took a breath; the grim reaper sharpens his blade; until we are finally sentenced to death.

but the in-between of these subtle things, the ones we fear, the ones we dread, may also be the reason we choose to live instead.

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