sometimes i am overwhelmed by
how wonderful you are and how
lucky i am to be your friend. it
is hard to pinpoint my favorite
thing about you – i love everything
your laugh your words your passion
your ability to make me feel
we are the only people in the world
existing noisily as i float deeply in love,
words caught in my throat.
bittersweetness nips lightly at our
mouths. when you smile something
warm flutters inside me like a tiny bird.
maybe one day we’ll visit sweden
to talar svenska but for now i’m
glad we’ve gone to coffeehouse
inks lake and the blanton together,
and if a flower bloomed every time i
was happily reminded of you a meadow
would flood all the halls and classrooms at
LASA: petals tumbling out of windows,
buzzing bees washed gold beneath the sun.



she opened her mouth to scream.
only flowers came out,
blossoming from her throat



your constant honesty and kindness,
along with your ability to remain sweetly
composed in the face of chaos, is even more
amazing than a boy with wings plummeting
from the sky. i love all the little things you say
and write and do, just as i love the intricate
details of a favorite painting or the subtle way
trees turn gold in the morning.

at 8 AM lilac seeped into the sky,
and we chased each other downhill to the lake.
as we swam and rode foam-crested waves,
i wondered which shone brighter: the sun as it
glinted off the cool green water’s surface, or you
as you grinned and shouted with glee
over the roar of the wind.


soft gray rain, dissonance
tragedy romanticized
into something relatable

bittersweet dreams wrapped
in constant crisp cold

melancholy remains static
no flowers, only dying
autumn leaves

doubted reality

No matter how quickly she paced her selves, she always lead the way, strolling beyond her speed. There really wasn’t any doubt about it. In all honesty, where did the truth go? It probably nestled itself among the soft grasses that brushed against her ankles as she wearily hiked up the mildly steep hill once again. “W-Where are we going?” she gasped, panting slightly. She grinned without slowing down. “We’re going somewhere, obviously.” She rolled her eyes, even though she knew she wasn’t watching. Sometimes her vague speech frustrated her. “Explain yourself!” she demanded. “No need to,” she whispered, before placing a finger over her lips. She hesitated, puzzled, waiting for that crucial moment to pounce. She shrugged. “Well, I doubt my reality. I will always doubt it. The World spins on its head. The Oceans are splattered by the rain of tears and rose petals that forever spill from the eyes of Cloud. My World just isn’t. Yet I doubt that as well. The narcissistic Sky weeps in sorrow for the blocked mirrors of Lake, while the Sun bleeds crimson and gold across the Horizon before Dusk arrives with its veils of Stars. My fingers are stained by the feathery wings of dying butterflies. My soul burns from the lemon juice that’s squeezed from multiple attempts at Life. Which part of myself is real? Which one is a fake? I shall never know.” She watched the Sun above her. Soon her eyes burned to crisps, yet she could still see beyond the stars and planets that revolved around the Earth.

Yes, this indeed was a doubted reality.

sometimes we think before we speak, but not often enough

Everyone is born with wings.
People usually learn how to fly by the time they’ve matured, physically and mentally. That’s what’s supposed to happen. Being able to soar through the sky, knowing where to go and how to get there, is proof of success and the happiness that follows, the ultimate goal. But for some reason, I feel like someone tore at my wings while I was still in an inchoate stage of development. I’ve toppled into the sea without any means of rescue, and I can already feel myself slowly, slowly drowning. I’m tired, sometimes sad, and always suffocating from the monotony that faces me. When did the hopelessness first worm its way into my life? When did I begin to choke on the water that endlessly swirled around me? I don’t remember, can’t remember, and sometimes, I wonder if the salt water that stings my eyes is from the ocean or from my own uncontrollable tears. And above is me is the sun, so pointlessly bright and high in the sky that it’s a miracle I haven’t yet snapped under the pressure.

and yet again

she wrote all of his promises
on a hundred squares of paper,
one “i swear i will” per sheet.
each time he didn’t keep his word
she’d fold another rose, and soon
her garden of disappointment

dream (2)

i saw you again tonight.
this time, we sat together on a bus. ryan (was that his name?) and brandon were there too. the four of us laughed like best friends, which was weird because i barely knew any of you.

we all talked a lot about school, and about books, and that one film that recently came out, but none of us had had the chance to go watch it yet. “let’s go watch it together some time,” you suggested, and the rest of us heartily agreed.

and then ryan asked you what university you were going to next year, and you flipped your hair and laughed. “i didn’t apply for early admission; i’ll get responses in march or april.”

he was going to carnegie mellon to major in comp sci, and brandon and i teased him for being mainstream. “why not stay here to study that? the program’s just as good, and you’ll probably have a better chance at getting a job once you graduate.”

i don’t remember the rest of our conversation, but i can still see your face so clearly that this might not have been a dream at all. the sun’s shining through the window, and the bus we ride drives past lush green hills and cloudless blue skies. everything feels warm and citrusy…

…and in real life, i sat behind you in class, wishing that i hadn’t made a bad impression on you the first week we met. i wanted to befriend you, but we lived in two completely different worlds. you were so charismatic and affable, while i was afraid of everything…

why did you leave?

why did you leave school, before we ever talked to each other?

why didn’t you give me a chance?

or rather, why didn’t i have the courage to speak to you?

i pass brandon in the hallways during passing periods, and our eyes always meet. but we’ve never talked to each other before, not even once. and ryan – i don’t even know if his name is actually ryan, or if that was just part of the dream…

our bus was later struck by a train, but you were the only one that died.

<<originally written 1.10.14>>