I am grieving. I have always been grieving, though it changes shape. But right now, it is a tide that carries everything with it. Grief is not an event in my life. It is a climate. It is the air pressure I have learned to breathe under. I have lost
Arbutus Unedo That night the stars had spoken in languages my ribs do not know. But my soul heard its hymn a dialect only dead birds remember. And something beneath me wept, like an old god waking in the wrong myth. A thread caught in the teeth of the wind,
Satan When I was small, I used to hide behind the curtains and pray for the one who had been cast away. Not because I understood him, but because no one else wept. They said he refused to bow, but never said if he cried. They spoke of fire, but
Dual Flame I ate my bones last night… They tasted like your eyes. I ate my bones last night, They crumbled like salt on my tongue. The marrow whispered, but the voice was not mine, Or maybe it was, maybe it was... I swallowed anyway. My ribs float in a
The House That Was Never Mine There is a house I return to in dreams, though I have never lived there. It stands at the end of a road where the trees bow in reverence, their roots tangled in something too deep to name. The wind does not move here.
The Pomegranate I chose it carefully— lifted it from the pile like a relic, turned it over in my hands, listened to the weight of it, as if fruit could whisper its own secrets. It was the color of old bruises and burning horizons, red with the memory of sun
In the hush of the sleepless city at 3 AM, the pharmacy's lights flicker and buzz like anxious ghosts above deserted streets. Daytime’s clamor has long faded; now the sidewalks lie empty and the stoplights cycle through colors for no one. In this lull, the city bares
I Saw a Rat in the Tube I saw a rat in the Tube. Not the first, not the last, but something about this one unraveled me. It slipped through the tracks like a bad inheritance, a flicker of shadow between steel and filth. People screamed, feet recoiling, as if
The Hunter and the Duck I wish I were a duck. Not something grand, not something rare, not a swan with its delicate tragedy, its long, aching beauty that begs to be watched. I wish I were a duck, ordinary, unnoticed, the kind that waddles awkwardly on land and never
Hey, Little Boy Hey, little boy, I wish I could go back— back to the nights when your eyes were still unbroken, when the world hadn’t yet taught you what silence feels like after shouting. Did we grow up too fast, or did we simply forget how to be
A few days ago , I had a dream or more accurately, a recreation of a real memory, one that I had experienced before. It was late at night in the desert, at Merzouga~ Morocco , and the vastness of the landscape stretched endlessly before me. Adventurously, I left my tent and
I was drinking matcha in good company when my friend, with a curious smile, asked me, “What’s your favorite color?” “Green is one of my favorite colors,” I said without hesitation, though I didn’t explain. She didn’t know that earlier this morning, my body served me as
There are moments when life reveals its greatest truths not in the answers we seek, but in the silence that falls when we cease to ask. While conversing with a friend, she whispered to me, “It’s not acting like a bitch; it’s putting yourself first.” The words lingered
If I could return to that moment, to the day my parents met, I might understand life’s symphony a little better, might catch the threads of fate woven so tightly into their first glance, their first words. How many philosophers have sought to capture the vastness of human connection?
News
A few days ago, in a conversation with friends, the nature of love unfolded in unexpected ways. Some spoke of it as an illusion, a product of a society eager to sell us dreams. Others called it a myth, an antiquated story that has no bearing on our modern lives.