Seed
time
harvest
eat
think
form
seed
sewn

thinking
information
­unconfirmed
demonstrates
disinformally
monostichidity

Two poets, each with a distinct soul, shape similar sentiments in different forms. He dreams in paragraphs, broad and expansive, like clouds stretching across an endless sky. His words dive deep, exploring the hidden caverns of life’s stories. She, in contrast, dreams in lines, each one crashing with the precision of a wave. Every word is chosen with care, her stanzas offering brief yet vivid glimpses of a heartbeat. Her verses flow like a gentle whisper, artfully capturing emotions on display. Their forms may be distinct, yet their themes converge: love, loss, and longing, woven into words. They share their work openly, baring their hearts in a space where emotions find resonance. Each sentence pulses with passion, laughter, and stolen glances, their connection sparked from the very beginning. Together, they transform the stillness of night into shared moments, each word a bridge into the other’s world. As they read each other’s lines, each word becomes a cherished fragment. Their hearts, poured onto the page, collide and merge within the ink of their souls. Two poets, entwined, seek to understand the intricate design of love, its gentle, complex beauty. Each line written, every paragraph crafted, reveals their shared exploration through the labyrinth of love and uncertainty. Hand in hand beneath the starlit sky, they craft a story uniquely theirs, blending two beautiful voices into one. Who could have foreseen it? A poet of paragraphs, a poet of lines, falling in love with a beauty all their own.

Could you pawn enough courage to smile and pretend that everything is going to be fine? Just this time. One last time.

While the lines are blurred, and cries inside unheard, know that as the end unfurls it is that way by design.

As we cower like cowards in corners we run towards the cracks as the daylight chases us to remind us of the debt we owe for squandering every streak of light  on fights and afternoon delights, you and I knew somehow, we needed a place to hide. In an obscured sense, it is that of saying goodbye.

When I set the pen down and let ink bleed into the parchment, when I twiddle my thumbs cognizant of the things I meant, much is pondered about why the room in your heart I pay rent and as a tenant, I’m flagged delinquent.

And on your end, all along, you had all of me tucked in your hand. The silence too abstruse for one to comprehend and is unnerving.

Perhaps you found me undeserving of a love always teetering on the brink just waiting to succumb to gravity. Now the weight of unspoken truth bears down so heavily on us as we fall apart.

This throbbing anxiety seems to walk the road of eternity and in our insanity, we were two pyromaniacs playing fire with destiny, and destiny, a sadist as it may be, there is a horizon bordering its cruelty and honestly, we were vampires driving stakes in each other’s heart.

What I meant is speak your truth or forever hold your peace, for while we had our falling we loved nonetheless. No matter how we repress the past together you and I undressed and the future fraught with regrets, I must confess, though I detest, today we leave what we  had and we leave it to rest.

at least a few lines,
might as well a word
or perhaps a period,
and only for that moment,
betrayal to “I would resist”,
in constant, shall happen.

I shaved my legs this morning. “Alexa, put dinosaur Band-Aids on my shopping list.”

Once you get in the college routine, time speeds up
One minute you’re young and carefree
the next you’re young and free-time free.

MIT guys

A group of MIT students were visiting Yale for some event. Sophie, Anna and I were in the residential dining hall. I’d finished eating and I was trying to read, when this group of MIT guys swauntered in.

My impression of MIT guys is that they’re short and they flirt a lot. They’re all over the place, like they’re manic or on holiday and they think they’re going to pick up girls. (on a Tuesday night)

One guy said, “I’m new to the area, could you help me with directions to your house?”

Another came up with, “I’ve just become religious, ‘cause you’re the answer to my prayers.”

“What are you up to tonight?” This short stranger asks, leaning rudely on our table and acting like he’s lookin’ to get inside-the-ride.

“I’ve gotta read two chapters before tomorrow,” I said, somewhat annoyed with these dinkheads. They finally decided (realized) we’re boring and moved on to other female diners.

standing in line

Americans seem to love lines. I hate standing in lines. People don’t line up for things in Paris. There aren’t “bus lines.” The person who guessed right and is closest to where the bus door stops and opens, or the quickest person or the most ruthless person will be first on the bus. There aren’t any lines at cinemas or the boulangerie (bakery) or even at the Apple store - Apple tried to impose American style order - but #forgetaboutit.

possible mistakes

“I want a blonde boyfriend,” Leong said out of the random last night,
”and dye my hair blonde.” Leong’s from Macau, China. Her glossy, cornsilk hair is a sumptuous curtain of raven black.

“Noo,” Anna and Lisa said, almost in unison.
“I’d trade you,” I said, freely offering my baby blonde rat's-nest.

“There’s an individual,” Leong began, “I see when leaving chemistry class, who has the most beautiful head of frosted blonde tips. Let me just show you,” she says, pulling up her phone.

“You got a picture?” Sunny asked - she loves stalking.
“No!” Leong snorted, insultedly, “Investigative research on Instagram.”

“Is this a potential mate?” Sophie asked.
”I think it’s a suiter,” Leong said, slyly smiling, to laughs all around.

“Woah, Let me see em!” Lisa said, reaching for the phone.
“Gimmie!” Anna demands too.

“Should I project it?” Leong asks, waving her phone around to protect it.
“Hells, yes!” Sophie practically shouts.

“So, it’s the frosted tips that get you?” Sunny says, “Ooo, PSA, if you’re a man looking for a beautiful Chinese lover..”

Our 55” TV becomes Leong’s Insta feed and the pic pops up.

There’s a second of silence. “I think it’s a girl,” Lisa said, squinting and tilting her head.

We all study the pic. Is this the right person? I wonder.

“You may be a Lesbian,” Sunny whispers, before the room descends into chaos.

Enough, and a bit less, if need be, see
enough is enough to share,
think of the air.
All we think alone, we think as well,
aloud as silent,

we may, think of works, wit wounded
sounds spoken indelicately, as if
somschit nevamattah, same same same
shamesolain shame shame shame,

she shoulda knowd… ah,

there's the rub.

"... and we were like parallel lines. We were not destined for each other and will never be."

"It depends on what type of geometry you're referring to. In hyperbolic geometry, parallel lines meet at an ideal point - a point at infinity. I don't mind living in hyperbolic space. Would you?"

i like to revel in the grey
black and white too straight
i like to read in between the lines
i would like for you to be mine
but only if you want to
I only want you in this room, underneath the full moon
kiss until it’s noon, is forever too soon?
from dusk to dawn, the king or the pawn
as long as you want to play, my hand is yours to take
from weak to strong, we can build each other up
as long as you want to lay, always together through the night and day