back and forth
in a wooden chair
as i drink my morning
tea, with the sweet-salty
biscuits i like —
the air feels especially cold.
this homemade blanket
of multicoloured strings
woven together,
by my sister's little daughter
is keeping my feet warm.
in the middle of
the trees outside,
sleepy houseplants inside,
teapot, socks, soft jazz,
fig jam in the refrigerator —
i'm warm today.
from here,
the life that i've lived
looks very big
and very small
at the same time.
from here,
the decisions look easier;
the mistakes a bit funnier.
and there is clarity.
adjusting my glasses,
as i curl into the blanket
pulling the top of it
over my shoulders,
comfortable,
i imagine my time
in the house i grew up in.
the floors, balcony,
sound of the ceiling fan —
a grey cloud in my hair.
from here now
i see the way out.
from this day,
i can see
how important
a day was.
maybe i should
have calculated less,
loved more
let go more.
back and forth
in this wooden chair,
i've had
the sweetest
life.
i've loved
the sweetest
people.
this is what
everything
was leading up to —
warm on a cold morning
and cinnamon tea.
if only i knew,
i wouldn't
have worried as much.
oh well.

the skies in saccharine town
change all the time.
sometimes rosy,
at times lavender —
the windows are always
a surprise in the evenings.
"how are you today?"
"she doesn't love me."
i am sorry she doesn't love
you. and that most days
you don't love yourself.
making tea and something
comforting to say,
in the kitchen
i'm singing my favorite song.
the bugs outside are singing too,
and the sun is magnificent.
leaned against the glass window,
i watch you talk about
everything that you hate.
"my thighs, my mouth, my hair
my voice, my stomach, my heart"
and i'm sorry
you don't see
how quickly life is going away.
your stomach is soft
and lovely, and i like
your warm breath
that keeps you alive.
"is the tea good?"
you nod.
you like the tea —
that's a beginning.
i want to ask you
to work together
on making a sweet life.
and breaking away
from the system, and politics
and what everyone wants.
i want to ask you
to build from nothing
and make a very, very small
and meaningful life.
and i want to tell you
to give all your love to
you, till you find someone
else to share it with.
"i'm never going to find love"
— but you are scared
and insecure.
and i'm sorry
that you're missing the skies
of saccharine town.

sometimes in the summer
we wake up in a pool of sweat.
never been much of an air conditioner-person
— a lot of unnatural cold air triggers my migraine.
and we both don't love owning big appliances and furniture.
so you open a window,
and your shoulders —
bare skin against the new sun
looks so delightful.
we complain about the heat
and i look in the freezer
to check if i remembered to fill the ice trays
for our iced coffee this morning.
they are always there —
glistening, glorious cubes of ice.
you remember when i forget.
you use the shower after me,
while i put on a breezy, cotton something
to the meditative pitter-patter.
we both smell of lime and coconut
and suddenly the air is so much cooler.
sometimes, after our little ritual
we get in bed again for another hour.
my hair slightly wet from the shower,
your minty breath —
we fall asleep again,
comfortably,
as the sweet summer air
grazes against our cold skin.
what a luxury.

sweet cricket-chirp
on a rainy day;
we have nothing much
to say.
the day goes on like a day
and nothing happens.
unchanged —
the oceans and the air
and we are both scared
of just that.
if love happens,
does it not happen
like in the movies?
do i not burst into song
and hope that everything
goes wrong,
to go right again?
is it even love
if the music doesn't play

now

here,

as we bid goodbye?
does it matter why
it's not as lovely
when it's easy
to leave and
to get by?
maybe
we can hope
to try.
and love,
maybe
just maybe,
we can love
in the most ordinary way
here
so comfortable —
sweet cricket-chirp,
rain
and nothing much
to say.

the hum
of a coffee grinder
and suddenly air
that smells of
roasted coffee.
warm breath
on a cold night,
walking outside.
on the floor,
laughing
so much.
mixing teal
with gray
then lilac,
from that one afternoon
of painting sunsets
with oil paints.
kisses
on the forehead
then eyelids,
then cheeks,
then nose
and ears.
a big nap
in a hotel room
after a morning
of wandering around.
naturally,
wordlessly falling into
making love
at dawn.
the beach
with a beer,
or maybe tea
as the sun dissolves
into nothingness.
a car ride
and a favorite song
in a rainy midday.
absolutely forgetting
something sad
you thought you
would never forget.
flowers
gifted on an ordinary day.
stories
of good things
happening to
good people.
cold floors.

i wish you
everything
that i love.

can you leave me out
of the stories
that you choose
to tell them?
i will leave you
out of mine.
we can be
like this,
for another little moment
before it's absolutely
time.
under this sheet
the world
is so small
and so big.
between blinks,
we have bought
our first plant together.
and a soapy bubble
from you doing the dishes,
has escaped the sink
— glittery —
towards the sunlight.
you just called to say
that the colours
of an umbrella
reminded you of me.
between blinks,
it's raining
on an April afternoon,
and i brought us pastries
from the bakery downstairs.
i can't believe
how breathtaking
you look today.
we are on an airplane
laughing about yesterday.
out on a breezy terrace,
look —
is that a firefly?

between blinks

we're back again,
under this sheet.
and it's time.

more thankful than yesterday,
for the sun that shines bright
through the curtains
in my room,
for my sister's friend
who taught me to ride the bicycle when i was little,
for each heartfelt hug that taught me
affection.
more thankful than yesterday,
for the big gulps of cold water
and hot food,
for the firm mattress
that allows me rest
when i need it the most.
more thankful than yesterday
for the swirling,
ever-present illness
that teaches me compassion,
for a heart that feels,
breaks, blooms
radiates and gives
love.
thankful
for the yellow wildflowers
that grow from nothing
even to make concrete
beautiful;
for eyes
that make the most vivid memories.
thankful
for the sublime breeze
through the window,
when the power is out
on a summer's day,
for the last of the yogurt
or the remaining milk
for the last cup of tea.
more thankful than yesterday
for the songs
that were thought of,
for the universe
that wants me,
and keeps me safe
on days
when i am not
the kindest.
more thankful than yesterday
for the space to contemplate
in privacy of my mind,
for intentional words,
for this day
and for all the ages to come
in my inexplicably
magical lifetime
here.