Hey, it was nice knowing you,
And all your secrets,
And all your ****** fantasies,
And the way your beard smells,
And how your clothes felt on my skin,
And what you like to eat for breakfast,
And how you take your coffee.

Complete,
Raw,
Intimacy.

Self-assured connection.

Dreams of New Zealand,
And boat trips,
And learning to kayak,
And possibilities of falling in love again.


But you are yet another passing ship,
Anchor nowhere to be found,
No ripples left on the path you exited on,

So I guess I will never see you again,
Except on a boat in my dreams.

After all these transient years, time, and people

Maybe the only destination we are ever supposed to arrive at is the place of comfort in being alone.

Everything else is transit time;
Waiting rooms,
Airports,
Temporary apartments,

Childhood,
Adolescence,
Young adulthood,

The one who got away,
The one who broke your heart,
The high school friend,
The brotherly love.

That those them—they’ve all been waiting for us to be ready for that lucid moment of being content with ourselves.

That way, everywhere can feel like home and everything won’t seem so fleeting.

Somebody love me like the moon loves the stars. Someone listen to me like the trees do the wind. Let me be free like a flowing river and let me shine like the sun through rain clouds--even if ephemeral, I can give the earth life, help the seeds to grow and the flowers to bloom. When the rain comes, I will recede, for what is the blessing of sun without a little rain?

Wings clipped from edges of earth, dusted with flecks of golden triumph and darkened by the ashes from graves of opportunities missed but still tried for. I tried to break the cage that locked me in, the bars were welded tightly together and sometimes I saw no way out. But the mind, just like the powers of the heart, can compress the aches, the pains, the hurt into tiny boxes, only setting themselves (and you) free when open space to be us, appear.

I found a lot of open spaces lately despite the crowdedness of sub-urban life. I found spaces that encouraged me, that loved me, that even glorified me. It is nice to be so unconditionally loved even when sometimes misunderstood.

But the cage remains around certain parts of me. Around things I may not be able to let go of for some time–around the angst about the future, the worry around my potential, the uncertainty around everything amid chaos. I am still compartmentalizing. Emotional boxes are still bound tight with invisible tape, silencing my own words, own thoughts, and the chaos in the background.

The wings, albeit in disarray, still allow me to fly, sometimes to places I never thought I would go. And when they become so unfeathered, there is always another opportunity for transformation.

Under African skies sit trees with blooming fruits and green fields, lush with rainy season harvest. There are children with eggshell white smiles that are bigger than the dreams their villages ever promised. There are playful mothers who dance alongside their children summoning the Gods to protect and provide for them. Under African skies, there are hearts damaged by neglect and abuse but protected by tough skin that glows effervescent in the suns radiance. There are rusty bikes and fried breads. There are toys made out of banana leaves and plastic bags that always make children excited to play–resourcefulness helps to balance the trials of life and loss and all of the painful predictability of the have-nots. Under African skies, I have been introduced to some of the greatest hardship I have seen anywhere in the world. It is reflected in the scars on ****** bodies who inherit disease and poverty from their parents–in the crumbling homes and failing roofs–in swollen bellies and on naked newborns. Under African skies, I have met industrious people who are steadfast in their work of giving their kin and kind a different chance. In African skies, I have seen clouds change in a moments time creating new seas of colorful patterns I’ve only seen in magazines. I’ve watched the sun set, seen nights roll in accompanied by unannounced heavy rains that make lullabies on tin roofs. I have seen stars sparkle when the whole village turns black. I have looked up, praying on each star that the children will blossom like the fruits on the trees–that they will shine like the teeth in their smiles and dew on their faces. I hope that rain will come again unannounced, and that it will clean and clear the way for another tomorrow–for a new day where what is under the sky will be just as beautiful as what is above.

I’m not sure how much longer I can take it here with all of the uncertainty.
Questions leave marks in my mind as much as they do on pages that I cant seem to finish writing to you.
Everything made so much sense once,
Now it is an ellipsis,
A series of dots finishing out the sentences instead of full stops.
I have a hard time formulating any ideas, especially ideas of you.
What exists is what was, not what will be.
It’s frustrating I can’t create you,
That I can’t make you say things you’re incapable of saying.
I just wish certain things had closure,
Or maybe never opened at all.

It’s been raining all day today.
Each drop feels like the coldness of your breath on my neck as we lay sleeping in the bed we used to share.
Today marks a big day in your personal history.
I wonder if you love me the same today as you did when you first saw me standing next to a date tree playing a game with kids from your village;
If you love me more than those days you told me I was beautiful and I felt it in the reflection of your smile on my face.
I wonder if you will love me still when the girls on the streets of your new home start to resemble me and if thoughts of me, while faraway, will interrupt your bliss or add to it.
When I think like that, I don't like the rain, I won’t like the sun either.
I don’t like any day that I can’t see what you feel.

Two cups of coffee later and no noteworthy thoughts.
Progress seems slow on elevated hills,
The spark ignited nothing.
Papers lay under branches you thought would light,
They are empty words anyways, turn them to smoke.
The words I cannot remember, but the feeling I do.
That was a forest fire I could not extinguish.
Rows of blazing trees from within,
I wanted it to stop but it kept accelerating instead.
I had places to go,
People to return to,
All I could do was float back to the elevated hill
Where a different kind of love waited for me
One that was safe,
One that was protected,
One made of raindrops collected from tears I shed.

Think about all the people who have touched us,
The messages they have sent through their hands.

We are a series of stories.

But, the stories we write in our heads may not always be
The authors intended words.
What a shame that two people can interpret reality so differently,
And even worse,
When we interpret it the same way,
Just never have the courage to open another page.

That is how we lose the possibility for love.

I don’t know if it was the bomber jacket or the accent, the eyebrow ring or the way you occupied space, how drunk I was or the feelings in the air, but you caught my eye so quickly,



I was fixed on you.



I liked your musicality and your sensuality.

Your taste in movies and watching the rain with you.

Let’s have another sleepover.

I’ll look into your eyes again,

Put my head on your chest.


Maybe this time I will stay.


Maybe this time you wouldn’t go back...

Salt crusted tears leaving streaks-
what ifs, I wish, gone.
Markings on my cheeks of us.

To warm to shiver, to cold to show elbows on the streets.

Your seasons change in a days time, like the constant flutter of my hearts mind.

I thought it was time for spring, trees bearing their seasonal fruits, flowers opening after winter has faded, grass and wheat stalks moving gracefully with each gust of gentle wind.

The air around me felt more hopeful, and so did I. I like to think seasons change to encourage us to as well. But your clouds have confused me because rainy days make me feel dark blue, like the color of a bottomless body of water, holding so much mystery and fear that cannot be seen, cannot be felt.

But it’s you that makes me feel like that, like being trapped beneath inches of black water unable to find the surface, catch my breath, and stay afloat.

The tides of your unpredictability crashed over me so many times, at so many different speeds, I never seemed to be able to understand their patterns.

I used to love the ocean, all bodies of water. The endless horizons, the sounds of salt water ebbing and flowing towards me like an innocuous lullaby–

I used to love the change of seasons,

The promise of spring,

The way summer can make you feel like anything is possible.

But all the places I went with you, the times of year and the seasons I spent with you, are temporarily marked by that dark blue and black, that fearful feeling of looking down beneath the surface, the trepidation of letting go and moving on.

I will need sometime to remember why I loved it all in the first place and to see that the only constant is me.

This place reminded me of all the quiet places we used to find. The hills behind our seaside house where we used to take the dog on walks we thought would make her tired. It reminded me of the first time you came to visit me and I took you to my secret spot were we sat on the rocky ridge, listened to the echoes of the calls to prayer, and watched the sunset move through the mountains we both fell in love with.

We have seen nearly 400 sunsets since that day.

It reminded me of when you took me around your village, we ate  fruits straight from their trees and you told me ghost stories about the falling buildings.

I felt you today, amid trees and green as I ran through new fields of chickens and children, wondering how we ever got here, so faraway, sometimes so out of tune.

With the gusts of wind, memories too breezed by, commencing a flutter of emotions I have been reluctant to let myself feel since everything changed and our spots--our seaside home, our walks, were no longer ours, just relics to keep us connected.

I'm thankful for these relics, these memories, the feelings too, and for these never-ending places that remind me of you.

I hope to watch more sunsets with you and to find all of the quiet places where things always seem to be in bloom. I hope I get to love you for the next 365 sunsets and for the sunsets of the rest of our lives.

I fell in love with you under trees in cities you had never been and in villages with names I can hardly pronounce.

I fell in love with you between mountains in the only place that protected me from the chaos of the world.

I fell in love with you as I fell in love with your country,
A Moroccan love as sweet as fresh figs from the trees behind your house.

I fell in love with you in my dreams where we met in my imagination, I fell slowly, then all at once, thinking about the places we would go together.

Faraway as we are now,
I know when I take a deep breath you can feel the weight of a heavy sigh,
The release,
The wish of being next to you.

I want to hide behind your eyelids right now so I can see what you see everyday when we are away from each other.
I can cover them when things should not be seen,
And so that when you close your eyes,
All you will see is me.

I want to fall in love all over again.
And again, and again, in every new place.
I want to make love in more beds,
Under more sunsets that cast different shadows unto us,
In places where leaves change color and we change with them.

I promise the world will never have enough places to saturate my love.

Insatiable am I for this never ending sweetness.

If we run out of places,
I will make them in my dreams,
And this time,
I’ll take you there with me.

For now, hold on to that space we have.
The distance is making us stronger.
Don’t let go or we will both fall down (not out of love).

Just hold on tight and pull me back to you.

Emerald green like the color of a city at the end of a yellow brick road,
Her eyes sparkle like the depths of the forest but she has no idea how deep she truly is.
Thoughts suppressed by shallowness–
hallowed out souls whose skin has never felt the strength of any other sunset.
Pausing in spaces of time seem meaningless,
relation to others always fall short of her expectations.
Still wishing for a revived love or a forgotten friendship Searching for them somewhere on a rusty swing, a rotted out park bench--
all the places she used to sit.
Mind still floating along the wings of moments ephemeral, heart aches palpably.
She is still wondering how she can ever feel more alive than then.

I want to still be yours
but I want to fall in love with other people too.

I want to be so consumed in love of many kinds
that it oozes out of me from every pore like juice being squeezed from a fresh fruit.

I know you don't want to share me but,
I should be spread like seeds of widflowers
wildly,
freely,
wholly,
flowing through the winds of lovers

unknown.