How much love is almost enough love for the heart to both obstinately demand and also often relinquish control over The kinds that fill voids just enough to not need to embark on further quests or kinds of love you can drown yourself in Because there exists a great spectrum

Stone sculptures always look sad to me Maybe because they’ve been frozen in time while others have moved on You know I’ve always thought crows to be the harbinger of doom As they circle above me, maybe they sense something I continue to deny When green leaves burst

Why is it that we are constantly apologizing for not knowing how to cook like his mother for working till late on that end review and miss serving that evening cup of tea for forgetting that it was time to refill his medicine cabinet for not wanting to immediately start

When I was a child Just like a million other soft-cheeked pink-lipped babies since the start of time I was asked by my loving mother and father And dotting grandparents, to smile for them And still a fledgling to society I quickly succumbed to the desire to please Spread my

at this sunset we shall find each other with lights to guide our stumbling feet the water swaying to welcome our presence the breeze whispering loving nothings reading our minds and letting hearts do the talking at this sunset, in just a few moments, we shall meet who I am

Most of our love stories end with the happily ever after. So maybe I will be reduced to just a pulse in the journal penned down by your heartbeat. When you narrate stories of your life, maybe I won’t even appear as a person – just a pause bridging two

One thing about the sea that always stays with you is that there is no one way. No one way that things should be and no one direction for fish to swim in No one color standard for waters to comply with and no one shape for you to be

What if I was something less defined? Like the morning mist that exists for the single purpose of birthing life into the universe. Or the flushed summer light mirroring the momentous joy of a stray leaf’s unbounded existence. Maybe I’d be a marvelous gold embroidery bordering the setting

Tell me your story, then maybe I will tell you mine. Of the time when the world unraveled and we watched transfixed. Of being imprisoned by paper thin walls on nights when society set itself alight. Of hearing about families reduced to ashes under the moonlight. Amidst this rising odor