through a seam in the blinds
the sun
still

glasses case
when will it
come back to me

in the daylight her face just sleeping

her braided hair
in the lamplight
and daylight

The words that you’ve forced upon me are sad
I’ll take them anyways but you should know
That you can’t take them back

With acrylic I paint the crumbs on my plate,
the dregs of my drained coffee mug,
the torn and crumpled tissue beside it.
The best cup of coffee ive ever had,
the perfectly buttery toast, still warm,
reduced to traces, ugly remains.
I paint a sad still-life to remember,
with hindsight clouded eyes
the flavours I couldn't taste
before they touched my tongue.

The sky above me

Exploding with colors

Eyes filled with awe

The ground shaking beneath my feet




But when you close your eyes

and hear the exploding bombs

it reminds me of

the war

they fought

for our country







A document signed

on the fourth of July

A pen gliding

across such

an important piece

of our history

our lives







A birthday celebrated

across the states

does anyone

stop

to think




How did we get here?

It has become a curse to remember so vividly,
those moments, simple yet profound.
Like smiles, the sound of breath, and the warmth of their palms.
Loving, I’ve realized, is often about memorizing.
Attending to every detail whenever you can.
Their presence becomes integral, no matter how scarce,
So you rely on all your senses to keep them alive.

And when it’s time to leave, everything falls silent.
The glass feels more half-empty than half full
You realize, that their absence, too, hangs in the air
A feeling you don’t just remember, but live in
And you’re left wondering,
why their absence feels more permanent.

For the young,
the gut-wrenching ache
of love lost
Remembers.

The old witches know:
it forgets,
for memory is the reward—
a gift for having known
a twin in this world
(even if only for a short time).