this morning,
i've sat down
and tried to
recall memories.
memories
that i could
write about.
and nothing
significant
comes to
mind.
just
the same
childhood
television,
the feeling
of sand
between
my toes
at that
beach
i went to
a long time
ago.
years of
collecting
every letter
i've got,
then in
a moment
letting it
all go.
not
missing
the things
i thought
were important,
while i was
homeless.
kisses
on terraces.
a resort
we went
to a lot
on school
vacations.
central park.
a korean
restaurant
that i kept
going to
for the big,
floral coffee
mugs.
the consuming
thought of
wanting to
run away.
the happiness jar
full of folded
pieces of paper.
having tea
with a sweet man
after his meditation
in the morning
at my apartment.
having tea
with a warm girl
after her cigarette
in the morning
at my apartment.
a tray of
teacups
on an
airbnb
bed,
and friends
around it.
crying
in the shower.
hurting
my neck
from laughing
so much.
sitting
on the floor.
sitting
at a table
at sunset.
sitting
at a quiet
balcony
at dusk.
sitting
near a
sea
at dawn.
sitting
on the
steps
to a
kitchen
garden.
sitting
at an
empty
restaurant.
sitting,
scared
in silence
after loud
screaming.
sitting,
bored
at a
crowded
event
where
i couldn't
hear
myself.

nothing
significant.

nothing
significant
­comes to mind.