Love is a tide,
soft, inevitable,
etching names into sand.

But understanding,
the moon’s hush pull.

To be held is one thing.
To be known—shadows cradled,
no flinch, no turning away.

That is love, not by default,
but by choice.

I weep as often as I laugh
not from sorrow, nor from joy,
but because the world hums,
and I refuse to be deaf to it.

Her hands were soft and delicate, a carnivore's feast.
The burning ember captivated her gaze, too numb to notice.
Kyoto is a fragile porcelain bowl, cradling centuries of memories.
“Please, let’s go to Kyoto.”
Her eyes meet mine, too lost to be here.
“That’s not my name?”

Infinity is not a number
nothing lasts forever

Sometimes I think of killing myself
How the end would be so nice
How the darkness would swallow me up
And how the numbness would suffice
My need

For all the voices of the feelings
That constantly keep me reeling
To softly slow to a hush
As my brain starts tur-tur-turning into mush

How wonderful it would be
To have that powerful silence
Not even grasshoppers would bother
To wake me

My cells would stop dividing
My brain would stop the lying
Myself would stop denying
What I truly want

But but but
This is just a reckless fantasy
A way to elude one’s own reality

Because as I sit here on the floor
Tears drip drip dropping
I realize there’s those who care for me more
Cherish me more
Love me more
Than I love my own self

The crickets chirp
I put the pills down