under 100

by Gisella Gianina

(…I’m merely one of your stars.)


He loves her and thinks that her eyes are a sea of stars, and he’s drowning. A bat of her eyelashes forces the air out of his lungs and loving her is like walking on the thin line between life and death.

The clock stops ticking when her hair tickles his skin, arising goosebumps all over his body—a sensation he cannot decipher with artless, unworthy words.



The coffee you brewed earlier has cooled down, resting quietly on the dining table where we’re sitting at. Weird how we’re seated across each other, yet our eyes wouldn’t meet.

You choose to stare at the black liquid with vacant eyes, your finger gently tracing the body of the cup. It’s silent except for the loud ticking of the clock, though it might as well be the sound of the time bomb in my head.



The grief in your eyes was too raw, too real, it seemed more alive than your soul.

‘Tired,’ you whispered against my collarbone, shaky breath fanning the crook of my neck.

When I held you in my arms you felt as light as feathers, so I tightened my hold in case you’d fly out of reach.



You are the moon and I’m merely one

of your stars.

We light up the night sky and the world beneath us

murmur their desperation in shaky breaths,

while the fireflies dance

until their deaths.

The hopeful souls are looking at us, they have yet to realize

that we’re not the ones to grant


and their whispers fade

into nothing

in the dark.



The initial plan was to go to a beach with white sand that looks as if it had been traced by moonlight, and fall asleep to the soothing sound of waves lapping at the shore.

And maybe, maybe, find a summer fling.

What wasn’t part of the plan was electric touches laced with longing, exchanged confessions on the rooftop as the sun rises from its slumber—us waiting for its light to chase away the remains of the night, and falling slowly, but surely, in passionate love.



I didn’t sign up for this,

I think as I steal a glance at our linked fingers. You’re running to some place I don’t know, but I’m following you anyway, eyes glued on the beads of sweat trickling down your face as you drag me along, your eyes twinkling with mischief and a promise of something more.