Tuesday, July 24, 2012


“for we are where we are not”- Pierre-Jean Jouve

As this afternoon dissolves in the sun, I open my eyes to velvet black. Some stars in some foreign constellation take shape above the tiny streetlamps and the blazing beacon of your window. Night soaks into the wood of your windowsill, tiptoes through the quiet breeze of exhalations and sighs and sleep-balled fists swiping at passing dreams.
Somewhere amidst this thrumming stillness is you, and I close my eyes to midnight – no, far beyond midnight by now. My eyes are dry and heavy with untaken sleep but my veins are racing down my arms while my face is so radiant I think my whole bedroom must be luminous through the curtains on the darkened street you’ve never walked down.
Your voice in my ear. The city is sleeping but somewhere, someone in your background is blowing leaves, and a woman walks past your door in high heels. I wonder if she could ever imagine that the echoes of her footsteps are being heard half a world away.
You laugh and in that moment I see the light leap in your eyes, in your dear face I have never seen. Here yet never here, still we are together.

(written in March for a him who knows who he is.)

Thursday, July 5, 2012


to be nobody but yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you somebody else is the hardest battle you will ever fight. 
e.e. cummings

I have a pile of notebooks amassed over the past two and a half years, crammed with fragments of thoughts, quotes and half-baked paragraphs. I'm going back to the bottom of them to try and sift the gold specks from the silt, and along the way I found this gem by cummings.