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May 3, 2025
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๐oh, whAt a joy it is to feel lonEly, to wade through the quiet and search for a way out. i walk the beaCh, take the long way home, stretch time so my roOm stays empty a little longer. i sit on benChes, watch strangers paSs, ask the barista about their daY, the elderly man about his doG whom i see every day. i speAk to those beside me on the metro, stealing mOments, borrowing warmth, as if a few seConds of their time could soften the weight of mine.
when youโre loNely long enough, you learn to find peAce in the noiseโthe rhythM of streets, the choreographed steps of commuters, the birds scribbling shaPes across the sky. you notice the collage of patched pavEments. this city is so loud โ i am still leaRning how to be alOne.
Feb 22, 2025
Jun 22, 2025
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๐a couple months ago I'm out behind the gabled house with dregs of home still seeping through its edges, a sharp sort of newness ripping the seams of who I am & who I was, sweaty fingers slipping from between each other with the bloodied grasp of desperation - it is a spring day, and I am here again. the leaves are new and the blinking infant furled in the strands of my chest takes a breath and every time I trudge through these vine-ridden woods I feel her grubby hands trace the creases in my ribcage. there are ghosts here, the soulmate-friend across the ocean and I and the way we'd take axes to the already-fallen trees like our anger was spraying away with the bark and we were left with only breeze. there are the phantoms of our hands stuck in the mud, ripped leaves beneath our fingernails as we unclogged the flow of the creek and watched the water dig its trenches deeper, and now i'm watching it capture the light of a new year in my hometown alone. through the leaves and over the tinny chorus of water-on-rock I hear the echoes of a mother calling to her children in a game of hide-and-seek, her children laughing, the clamor of it like a memory captured on tape and played back. there is a hole here, radio waves rippling through years folded back and punched through, I a bystander to the reminiscence of a stranger years down the line when some part of that laughter will be lost. it is here. it is here now, in the backyard of a house I sometimes call home.
May 5, 2025
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