Sunday, November 27, 2016

Years Later

Me at a coffeeshop, coffee in hand and words in my mind.  This feels familiar--I was here, at a previous time and a different space.  And in a lot of ways, I am different too.  Older, definitely.  Wiser? I would like to think so.  I read through my previous posts and realize how sad I was, how desolate.  I was drowning and did not seem to know it.  Or maybe I did know, and I was treading memories to keep afloat. To not sink into them when they were so strong.

I am better now.  My heart is full and on most days, bursting.  I have lesser voices in my head, reminding me of long lost love.  The universe still pokes me from time to time.  And some skeletons of the past refuse to remain buried.  They give me phone calls every now and then.  A text message, or a post showing up on my wall that takes me years back.  But they do not faze me as much.  Or if they do, I have learned to quickly get myself back.  I am better now.   And in saying so, I realize I really am.

Friday, December 27, 2013


Where you used to be, there are shadows.  Of the person that I knew.  Of the man that I fell in love with. Where you used to be, there is silence.  And I miss hearing the inflections in your voice as you talk to me.  Perhaps I imagined it all? perhaps the reason why I expect too much is because I saw too much...want too much? From you.  But I am bleeding dry now.  From inside out. I am losing the feelings either you or I have built in our time. I've been trying to tell you. I think I've been shouting out my pain.  But you don't listen, are not listening.  And you look at me like I have slowly lost my mind. When did you stop looking at me like you used to?  When did I notice the change? Or perhaps this was all it had ever been and I just saw too much, expected too much, wanted too much.

I am bleeding dry now.
And running so close to empty.
And I can hear your answers in your silence.

Monday, December 16, 2013

A Broken Me and You

I feel sad listening to the tinkling of the broken pieces inside you as you speak.  I can tell, I hear the same sound inside of me sometimes.  Perhaps mine have dulled or I've gotten so used to the sound in me that it fails to resonate now.  Perhaps.  Or I have simply forgotten.  But there's that sound again, in you.  And I understand how painful the edges must be of the jagged parts that you are hiding.  Perhaps I am the only person who will ever know what it's like.  The only one who can understand the need to move despite how each painful step jars those broken pieces time and again.  I hear you.  And I feel sad listening to the tinkling of the broken pieces as you speak.  Let's sit in our silence for a moment.  We don't need the words really.  I hear you.


There will be times in our lives when promises are given more freely, and believing them is easier.  When we feel invincible and timeless and unconquerable.  When it's easier to allow ourselves to feel and the thoughts in our heads may be as confusing, but not as cluttered or easily forgotten.  When the little joys are more important than the end goals.  When love is the only important thing in the world.

Savor that time.  It too...passes.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Wrinkle in Time

It is discomforting...
to know
that nothing
quite inspires me
the way you do.
And that
no one
can impressively
break my heart
the way
you can.

Friday, September 28, 2012


I am miserable, can you tell?

Sometimes I lie awake staring at nothing, feeling nothing. And it’s the saddest feeling in the world. Sometimes I feel like glass, fragile, translucent, close to a breaking point that I cannot quite understand. I tell myself silly stories. I dream them. And when I wake up, the stark reality of what I see fazes me. I do not know what I am built for. I used to think I am made of sterner stuff. After everything, I thought I must be one tough person to be able to have withstood a shattering. But maybe, just maybe, the shattering hasn’t really stopped.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

I Had A Dream

We've moved on, haven't we? I hear the echoes in your silence. And the pictures I see tell me the stories I do not need to tell. I am reminded of long conversations and flashes of moments quite faded into memories. I remember now, slow as a trickle, how I have taken for granted so many of the things that should have meant so much. But because it has been so long, and we have moved so far, there is only a distant ringing. And of course, the single sigh. You have awakened in me so many facets of my being. I did not know how to be myself then, but I do now. It would perhaps have made a lot of difference had I known then, but I doubt the journey would have been the same. You are a lucid memory. Always will be.