Adam got visibly upset when he saw me laughing at something I was watching from my phone, despite incomplete homework still spread out before me. Apparently, it took me five minutes to notice he was there.
Which made sense, because I was always chasing after my assignments to get them done on time (sometimes unsuccessfully). Even his assignments. If anything, as a student, I should’ve known better. Following him out of the near empty library, I attempted to explain with, “It was only ten seconds. I was working the whole time in the library otherwise.”
He paused in his tracks. As we were now outside in an empty quad, we could finally talk freely to each other.
“Lilette,” he said, turning towards me, in his disciplinary voice reserved for students caught watching Instagram stories on their phones. I winched, realizing I probably shouldn’t stick out my tongue this time.
Feeling tired and uninspired. I think I’m just experiencing all of the burnt out-ness of my body that has been delayed from finals and such… in full-tide now.
Work is also frustrating and exhausting.
I wish can sleep for forever and a day. But I also like being productive and doing the things I need to do / want to do to, you know, carry out my life. And to think about stuff that go beyond school (not to mention I’ve been avoiding seeing my grades).
I simply hope I can gather enough motivation to get started on my hobbies again.
Despite the shell of protection around me, I would still slip out to be misled by a false sense of desire. My younger sister Kaitlyn, my mom, and Adam himself wouldn’t be able to prevent me from being foolish, as I apparently find something in him that I missed since landing in the U.S.
Gooey, cheese-ridden pretzels and vanilla/chocolate chip cookie dough milkshakes would’ve been good, except for the chilly polar bear roaming around in the room.
A.k.a., a past boyfriend that called for one last dinner while you were stressing over a manuscript due to your publisher in two weeks. It’d been cloudy then, the skies thick and pungent with an anger soon to take over in the form of pouring water. Musky and wet, the very air signaled rain, which had once alluded to spicy cinnamon hot chocolate with fragrant strawberry candles and all curtains drawn. With your Maltese teacup snoozing on your lap, fingertips would’ve tap-danced on your keyboard until intestines growled for some food, often in the form of ramen as your buzzed head would finally rest from all the radiation. That’d basically be the day.
But here’s a shift in routine – a jarring jump into the past that’d left you shaken, unsure of what to say or do. Though you’d crawled out of your studio cocoon for him, you weren’t even sure at this point if this was right. Letting go was letting go, and you thought you were sure.
And the skies too thought they would rain. It didn’t though, and neither had you stuck to your “break.”
I shouldn’t have expected her to run towards me. I should’ve made the first move – to tug on her arm even if it meant disfiguring her arm socket, or pushing her back so I’d be the one hit by the asshole drunk. But instead, this whole thing is incredibly ironic. And so, so haunting I could die myself.
In our case, not long after I pushed her to the brink, I’ve been hit with forced closure. Life did not, could not, wait to force-feed me the consequences of my actions that, currently, I can only choke on.
I still miss Alice. I should’ve been the one rushing across the street, never making it to the sidewalk in time.
I wish I took the responsibility for her brokenness, with the correct foresight.
this is what it always comes down to.
a cup of cold brew that wakes you up.
the right song shuffled to dance through earbuds.
consistent green lights while driving.
a pretty pastel hue of blue in the sky.
that friend you ran into in the library that loosens your shoulders.
your body and skin hanging on despite days of stress than care.
food and dollar bills at hand.
loved ones waiting for you at home (yes, this includes dogs and hamsters).
a privilege to see and the ability to hear.
to listen. soak in. to be present even for one moment.
money is only paper if you don’t know what to use it for.
your dream is stuck in the realm of imagination if you never act upon it.
investments show their true blessings in due time.
if you know these things,
and move, fall, make mistakes, recover, brush the dust off, and keep
you’re already living and making it.
these are the basic rules of life.
these are all you need.
We as spectators view the girl from an unknown camera, as she sits huddled in the lightless room. The lens attempt to capture the details surrounding her, but the lack of light renders the feat to be difficult. We are silent, crouched in a space where she won’t see us. We know her name is Hatty, and that her older sister is Hailey. 23 and 25.
What we don’t know is how she feels after what just transpired.
“It’s not my fault,” she mumbled, breaking her silence. “It’s not.”
Through the lens, we view her eyes flitting to her closed door – wondering if someone is beyond the doorway.
say what’s on your mind
(although I’m scared)
let me leave it behind
(what if you never cared)
anyway, you were so kind
(but what if you dared)
oh so clueless on letting you go,
but hopelessness keeps me going, so
No matter how foolish and belittling it may seem of me to do so,
I still find myself wondering about you a little each day,
catching myself imagining all that you may be doing, who is in your head, if you remember me at all.
Even if I’ve little to no context to even work with.
I lose myself thinking that a
gust of wind is
your breath warm traveling down
my arm, brushing by my neck
after an imagined hug that
my skin rejoices in, intoxicated and
dumb, quite even now.
I imagine your fingertips tracing
art on my skin, my breath holds itself
back from breaking the spell –
it’s too real, your slim touch
tracing a heart on my
chest, going down my stomach
in slow swirls, squeezing
my inner thigh and
inviting yourself in to
tune me up and have me
echo a song for you
in a dark hushed room
acres away from any form of reality.
It’s your legs that keep
believing no forgetting
desperate not wistful
to mold into warm, living being
some kind of love
that exceeds imagination
or painful history.
No way is this
This warmth can only
to keep for
me and me.
Appear when I ask and
stay for eternal moons,
don’t leave me cold to
watch the next moonfall alone you were once here.
the secret to put an “end” to more learning, to
cap a lid onto the steaming elixir to close the
window, block the onslaught wind of
others’ approval others’
voices and simply think
accept wait – hopeful is
to see that this length is sufficient
to show just exactly what you
it is seeing that
errors are imaginary enemies
disguised as letters and the keypad has
been told to shut up letting you
click tap away when the
document has had enough of
relifting, editing and cosmetics and
it too just wants to breathe let
the words sink in like carbon dioxide
brushes the top of your still
you’re breathing now and seeing
everything as is and the enemies
have said goodbye, jumped back in
the abyss they have come from and
now you’ve unraveled the
quiet truth for yourself, the next to be
set free amongst a sea swarm that are not.
Congratulations, you are now content.
So go. (*inspired by Grace Paley’s poetry)
my heart wants
to miss you
me, who can’t fly
to hold me
let alone send
the truth he left
undug and dead
it wants to miss
a thrill let loose
like them, I wait
for him to
light my sparks
tell me how
I flit around your
head like a bird
searching for crumbs
a busy dot on
your grid of memories –
fleeting images that
keep you wondering
tell me am I
your cup of coffee
every morning or
a story to tell
the guys of
mess-up dealing with
all things love
and that honesty is hard but
in reality, missing
should be harder –
I wonder if you ever
think to yourself
I’m past that but
not yet past
Honestly, you don’t need to know
why you’re a step slow,
forgetful, anxious to stop
and see where else
you need to go
(but not always how far you’ve come
Misfortunes rob each breath that
fail to escape lungs and
instead clouds up the heart
already filled with a million and one
unspoken junk, strung
together on a
long string of panic.
There isn’t room for
peace – only calamity
and the notion of lost
sanity at all the things
I do wrong.
Even still, you’re
rest – no plans echoing
in your mind
to paint a false sense
of doing “it” right –
is an act
of healing –
you’re not selfish
You’re so quick to bring
light to others, but
where is yours?
or the many times you said
good night, good morning
I’ve arrived here to
do this or that
intertwined merged as two
like ink bleeding writing
illegible under a sheen of
spilling colors throbbing
life love and a
wild dream I yearned
to stir, but did with
my hands (only).
You changed my scenery
then ran – the jarring silence
the blank page
split my eyes to cry
tears copied the ocean
to cross our distance
while I was here and
you were there.
I lost my
the empty white
a lack of any
presence. With you
what was clockwork became
an ongoing sequence
of dreams colliding
with the sun
daring the moon
to conquer me through
It’s nearly impossible. Feelings are like waves in which, just as you think the high tide is gone and the low tide is here to stay, the moon alters its spin or angle or even thought, and the waves act up. The memories associated with those unwelcome feelings come spilling back onto the otherwise clean shore of your delicate mind, which is already cluttered with a billion and one thoughts. It’s the land version of stars, the number of opinions, pains, daydreams, fleeting observations, lyrics, images, and ideas that clutter the brain like an hourglass. But when this mound of identity becomes lost, spilled over, and taken in by these occasional, powerful waves…what then?
Uncontrollably, parts of you give in – they must. The pull of the waves, the haunting voices of the memories, the stormy feelings you thought you escaped. They all come back to haunt you, but not to answer any remaining questions. Though you probably don’t need to be reminded of this, no amount of what-if’s or he should’ve’s will undo what he failed to carry out while still in contact with you. He won’t be aware (as people sometimes can be; not everyone is in tune with the concepts of fleeting time and opportunity) that it’s the last time. Not everyone will say what needs to be said – either by choice or by oblivion. And no matter what, you can’t do anything about it, because they are a whole other person – a whole other world.
And, more importantly, once they’re out of a scene, they’re out. The steps you take won’t bring you closer to them, but only further away from where you originally were, as you. There’s no door to reach because there is no door. Everything’s closed once he leaves, and it’ll take a special pull of the universe to pluck a string and bring about a miracle. If it’s meant to be. Often, you won’t find out until you won’t need it, which is just simply annoying. Sometimes though, the world has too much on its hands and it can’t accommodate to everyone’s lack of closure. I thought the world could provide that much, but I learned that sometimes people really can leave you with the most crucial truths unexplained. They can leave you guessing for forever and a day and they’ll most likely forget until they get confronted with the same situation themselves. Only then will they realize that you were, in fact, their mess-up (because everyone needs a first mess-up).
That was my case, and quite frankly I still can’t forget it. I thought I walked back to my own world and closed my door, kept the waves off and rebuilt my shore, ever since the end of January. But again, the waves are pounding, threatening to seep in through my door and its chains and to wet my sand and take some of it with them, dampening my stability. Again. All I can say is to stop coming back. You left me in ruin by avoiding saying the most potent of truths… especially when it was my first confession. I deserved clarity, and I deserved closure. I’ll give you the deadline of my lifetime, waiting with my sanity bobbing in and out of my leaking heart. All I can say (other than the fact that I actually really don’t want to see you ever again) is that –
It’s a very understated word, reserved often for fantasy books or romance movies or even sad animal stories that – beyond a little personal infliction, we don’t truly have to be invested in. It’s more so a conjured feeling, and not something we associate with daily.
Coming off of a discussion yesterday that I’ve had with some close sisters, I came to realize that age matters differently than how I’d initially thought in a couple relationship. What previously seemed to be an issue of generation gap and the wisdom that follows, became (not replaced but) enhanced with the notion of priorities. It’s the priorities that, depending on whether they match or not, come to lead to a connection (rather than merely knowing one another).
That’s how sometimes, relationships with a big age gap can work, while others are better off remaining single with the fading question of “what if”.
(Though of course, absolutely nothing is guaranteed.)
One, that for some reason, I too have an invisible name tag that reads Uninvited. Two, that no matter how much I bounce in between cliques, creating relationships with different individuals, it never amounts up to much. And three, the tension will always get to me.
What will it take to keep happiness locked inside you, more deeply than unsatisfaction, anxiety, worry and depression?
Where is the key of contentment? I can look for it everywhere.
But the more steps I waste, the louder the cries of my heart ring, the heavier the darkness gets, and the harder it is to erase the voices, the impending sadness that resembles a big, grey cloud. As it sobs, the city of my bones, nerves and emotions soak in the tears.
What will dry them?
Is happiness warm? I’m usually chilly.
Will it take the next two weeks,
six months or
the next breath to stop feeling this illusion?
Where have I run to so far? Where am I? How can I get back home?
The self has been locked in an unidentifiable chamber and I just need to make it mine again. But how?
When will this mystery end? My thoughts never end, and they’ve consistently been getting worse.
Will I need to leave this place to gain a sense of where it is, or how I might attain it?
What shall I do next, when my feet and hands are already quite worn and dry?
Only my eyes remain wet and lively. Somehow.
But I can’t even guess how hard, murky and black the caverns and passageways of my heart and mind really, truly are.
She stirs, wakes up with a quiet yawn, before rubbing her eyes. She looks around at the mementos, the files, the dust that you as an adult have collected throughout the years like used textbooks. She sees the past in them, and the once treasured parts in each one – or the lack thereof.
Her nose wrinkles in distaste, and her eyes sneer, downcast, at the distasteful collection. With fists curled, she dutifully stands up on your stomach and reaches up to knock on your heart. She wants to teach you a lesson on imagination. On dreaming loosely, with your back turned to time and its demands. To let the mind dance, dip its toes in untouched realms, and take your heart with you. Or, if you’re not that ready yet, to simply envision something different, refreshing and enlightening – to take your eyes off of the agenda book, the phone you can’t live without, or even the cigarettes you swore you’d quit. To look up, than down.
It’s okay if your hard work doesn’t always lead to success.
If your resources, time, loans, money, connections, etc. didn’t lead to that result you’ve wanted. If effort seemingly betrayed you, or the world wasn’t ready to welcome your new, innovative idea with welcome arms.
If the timing was simply off, or someone else “beat” you to it.
‘Cause, I mean…
Since when did the goal of success become so marketable that it’s become a requirement?