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on days as beautiful as this, i look up at the sky and bask in your presence.

even in setting darkness, there is an underlying sense of comfort.

they say home is where the heart is,
the thing is, when your heart stopped beating, mine didn’t— and I haven’t felt home since.

but the sunset feels familiar, i can’t help but want to say thank you for coming to visit —

thank you pa
these sunsets remind me
of your light
these sunsets remind me that
you are my refuge
these sunsets remind me that
I am safe.
I always thought I would remember my father during birthdays and graduations. Grief, however always catches me by surprise.

I remember touching his cold, hard face. I remember kissing his dead cheeks. I remember the smell of the chemicals used to preserve my father— that’s what death smells like in my head now.

The thing about losing someone is you’re torn between wanting to forget your pain and wanting to hold on to all the memories you have left, however bitter it is.

There is no one switch that allows you to forget. Despite everything, death comes with numerous variations of “life goes on” — for comfort. I personally do not understand how to seek solace in that.

Isn’t that the saddest part? The fact that life goes on?
Kanna: the tamil equivalent of the words baby/ sayang/ honey/ bunny/ sugarplum/ puffy yummy yum.

There is nothing sweeter than calling a loved one Kanna— the god of love, another name for Krishna.

Krishna's love encompasses the entire spectrum of this beautiful feeling – love for his foster mother Yashoda, for his brother Balaram, love for gopis and for Radha.

Imagine meeting someone so wholesome you want to call them Kanna.

Kartinee Mageswaran
I was your dream,
But you shouldn’t have fallen asleep.
Missing my late father
I don’t flash ****
social security benefits.

But I call my baddie daddy,
because his heart is like paddy;
Big, wide &
worthy of a Grammy.

I like my wine fine,
Man resigned,
A bit over twenty-nine,
So it all feels like borderline cloud-nine.
Lucky for me,
Love & grey hair came intertwined.
Rub your rock, hard,
on my skin
As you would to start a fire.

Skin on skin,
Again and again.

Use that spark
& warm your stone cold heart.

How do I tell you
that you are not a dying sunshine,
but you are the sunset?

How do I tell you
that the sunset paints not only the skies,
but also smiles on my face?

How do I tell the sunset
that she is the freedom of the night -

And because of her,
you see stars,
The shiniest one, Mommy;
The one blinking at you, Daddy.
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