052625

It rained.
The sky trembled,
and so did I—
waking in the hush of lateness,
a body unraveling in silence.
Illness came not like thunder,
but like memory—
quiet and overdue.

Weeks ago,
voices too young to understand
asked me things I couldn’t answer.
I smiled.
But something inside
went missing.
So I closed the door
before the next knock.
I named it fear,
but maybe it was a kind of vanishing—
the way I’ve always slipped through
before connection could tether me.

Trust—
a thin, brittle bridge
between islands.
I walked it once.
Now I float
in my own weather.

I thought
I was finished breaking.
That the years had made me whole.
But strength is not stillness.
And even stone remembers
how to fall.

There were worries
I tore from my own hands,
pages I left blank
so no one could read me.
And yet—
this morning,
I unwrapped something fragile
I had wrapped in forgetting.

And it was me.
Still here.
Still trying to become.

But what if the world ends tomorrow?
All the things left unsaid
All the kisses never given
All the moments never shared—
Where will they go?
Will they hover in the air
In the stagnant debris
Of a world ended?
All the things we held back
When we thought we had
All the time in the world
Will float aimlessly
Waiting for a place to land
But there is no place to land
For the world has ended
There is nowhere left to go

If I wait to say I love you
I might wake up one morning
And find you’re no longer there
And the flowers hidden in my closet
Will have nowhere to go
And if I wait to say I’m sorry
You might never know
And if the world ends tomorrow,
You might never hold me again
What if we kissed for the last time?
What if the last words we said
Echo through a lost eternity?
I would rather have made a million mistakes
Than stand in black
Holding a rose you never saw

Why are we drawn
to lust,
to the hunger of flesh,
to devour food
as if the body remembers
a hunger older than time?

Because we are soil!
And we desire
grain,
flesh,
which too rise
from soil.

Like calls to like.
Atoms seek atoms.

The universe obeys
its own silent gravity.

Our lust,
and longings
die
when we return
to the dust
we came from.
But even then,
it’s not over.

Our atoms will scatter
into soil,
into seeds,
into skins.

And somewhere,
in someone,
they will long
again.
Not with our name,
but with our echo.

Maybe, the bodies you see
are echoes,
of echoes,
of echoes...
of echoes…
…
..
.

Moments and memories
Something to burn
Something to yearn  
Hopefully we learn
  
Aches and pains
Second nature gains  

Witty and modest
Learning to be honest

Memories found only to be lost
Moments lost only to discover a true cause

There are two things in me:
Sense of belonging is one,
Appreciation is two.
When combined?
This is something I can’t conclude.
I expect too much;
Then regret as much.
Hearing these voices in my head,
That kept me up all night and said,
“Do you think when you are gone-
They will be bothered to remember you?”
I began to reach out with my hand,
Then I started to look like a fool.
“Why would they even remember?”
I couldn’t even give a response.
Because everything it said is true.
I fell into an endless abyss,
With nonstop bickering.
I am starting to lose my sanity
I couldn’t even get it out of my head.
I feel so helpless and afraid,
A feeling of endless pain.
I could feel something so near,
That something is what I despair.
I couldn’t even take it,
I just want to have some rest.
“Why can’t I have it?”, is what I said.
Internally screaming that no one could hear.
A crying for help that no one knows.
The night has become eternal.
Not knowing how much time has passed.
At first, I couldn’t believe,
There are such things possible.
The saying seconds become minutes,
minutes become hours.
So I thought this is what I should pay,
And will continue to stay.

Why does it feel
Like im wasting my time
Like my life is fading
To the back of the line
When nothing is wrong
But nothing feels right
Do I go back to sleep?
Or do I drown in the night?

I've made a fool of myself
When I said I don't need anyone's help
I can't survive with my eyes on the time
But my own life never felt like mine

When will my dreams feel real
Again
Like they're not just stuck in my
Head
And my body will move like im
Young
And I'll break free from
Everyone

Two winters ago I would chain-smoke spirits on my way to work in the early mornings;
windows down, blueish fingertips,
driving through the gunks into the sunrise, Leonard Cohen on repeat—
            I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
I would drive home much the same way, sometimes going the long way
to catch the sunset;
my sunless days, nestled between 4 stiff walls
The world was grey;
            grey pavement
            grey skies
            grey walls
            grey smoke
It must be this way forever, I thought.
that February was the coldest month I remember being alive—

This year the windows are up, the sun is bright, I keep my car
warm.
In the passenger seat;
a bag of sweet sesame rice crackers, an apple, lime seltzer, a little jacket, my journal, tiny socks—
I reach my hand in the backseat
when Winona cries,
let her wrap her tiny fingers
around my thumb, "I'm here,
sweet girl"
I pull into a park on
the river— we get out
            watch the trees
            sway, the breeze
paints our faces rose, we
orient ourselves in this
big, unfamiliar
world. she reaches her hand
out as if to grab the falling leaves, a
wonderous look on her soft face—
she smiles,
she touches my face,
just months old and she knows
            my voice
she knows
            my safety—
for a moment,
            nothing else exists,
            the world doesn't know
            we're here—
for a moment, it's just us,
            like it was in that hospital room
            not too long ago
for a moment, there is
            peace—

I wonder if I'll remember this
in 60 years,
when both our hands
will have wrinkled, mine more
than hers; when crows' feet
ordain our eyes;
when I've lived my life, and she's
well into hers. I know
she won't remember,
I hope I do—

You don’t notice it at first.
Not really.
Life keeps you busy with noise, with dreams, with the next thing.

But then one day,
you cross an invisible threshold.
There’s no signpost, no celebration
just the quiet erosion of what once mattered.

The body falters first.
Not dramatically - no, it’s more insidious than that.
You wake up sore from sleep.
You get winded climbing stairs you once ran.
You start measuring your days in energy, not hours.

Then come the dreams
the ones you clung to like anchors.
They begin to dissolve.
Some shrink into hobbies, others vanish with a sigh.
And the ones that remain?
Too fragile to chase, too old to birth.

Your beliefs shift too.
Not because they were wrong,
but because the world keeps insisting you make room for things
you once swore you’d never tolerate.

You adjust.
You settle.
You survive.

But the worst part
the part no one warns you about
is the people.

One by one,
they begin to leave.

Some give you time.
They let you prepare your goodbye.
Others vanish mid-conversation,
leaving cups half full and promises unfinished.

And what’s cruel is not just that they’re gone
it’s that nothing fills their space.
You try.
You pretend.
You build new connections like patchwork quilts.
But nothing fits quite right.

Because love, real love, isn’t replaced.
It’s carried
as ache,
as memory,
as absence you learn to walk around like a piece of furniture in the dark.

You keep going, of course.
What else can you do?
You make tea.
You water the plants.
You smile at strangers and nod at the sky like it still owes you something.

But deep down, you know:
This is what it means to age
not the wrinkles, not the gray.
It’s the slow, silent disappearing
of everything that once made you feel
alive.