new normal pt. 2

how crazy is it that we go from living our lives together everyday to not being able to see and feel each other for months on end;

how crazy is it that i have to hang on to the last words i heard from you on the phone, or the last photo i took of you, or the only shirt i have that’s yours, or the last memory i have of us, which at this point, is as vague as last night’s dream;

how crazy is it that i’m still here, waiting for a miracle to arrive

on the road

early mornings and hot coffee
hours on the road with the perfect playlist
gas stations and a sunrise in the middle of nowhere

all to get to a place
where simplicity and living with less
are more than enough

every time i’m reminded of the sea
or of what it’s like to be human
i’m reminded of what it’s like to truly live

if miles and miles are what it takes to feel this way
then there are no bounds to what i’d do to be in the right place

glass figures

i was in the car with my family,
driving up and down the hill-like streets of downtown San Francisco.
i looked out the window as would every other person riding a car,
searching for something to admire or simply relieving boredom

and there they were,
the warm lit squares and rectangles on the surfaces of every building.
windows of every size,
some open and bright from the light inside and some shut closed.

windows tell a lot of stories.
they give the shortest glimpse into the life of a stranger,
or provide a brief opening into a story.
and the beauty there is that you can make anything of it.

i saw one with a floor to ceiling book shelf and thought,
maybe the person who lives here is the type to carry a book with her wherever she goes
maybe the person who lives here sits right beside that window for her morning coffee and read
just as i would

another had a christmas tree and a bunch of frames and i thought,
this is the home of a family
by the window is where the family sit cozily in front of their tree and talk to each other
just as my family would

and then i saw a few more
but instead of noticing the things behind them,
i thought of what my own window would look like from the outside.

my window would have soft and warm light illuminating from it.
it would show my wall shelf with my collections of books and trinkets from the cities i’ve been to
it would show my dog sleeping
it would show me typing away on my laptop as i sit on the couch and have a cup of hot green tea in one hand
it would show me curling up on one side of the couch reading a book with a candle lit
it would show laughter in many faces for when my friends are over and we’re all reminiscing
it would show me softly and passionately looking at him and giving him a kiss good night

my window would show many fragments of my life,
but that is all they’ll ever be—
a glimpse, a brief opening, a fragment.
it’s never going to be the full story.

people will only continue to see parts of your life,
no matter what those may be.

through a window, there is hope.
there is light, there is beauty, and more importantly, there is life.

windows of a building or an entire street co-exist much like humans co-exist wherever they may be;
life continues to happen for each of us, and so it does through these windows.


Water, in all its forms, speaks to me in different ways,

in ways that words will never be able to give justice to.
It ignites something in me that I thought was long gone.
It pulls my entire being back to where it has to be.
And for some apparent reason, though I am floating in the middle of the ocean or moving against its current, in those moments, I have never felt more grounded.

The water always feels right.

Soft rain— when I barely feel it touching my skin and all that it is is a soft touch that resembles a tickle, a gentle reminder of something sweet and good.
Thunderstorms— when strong wind, a heavy pour, and continuous loud thunder partner, this is when my heart beats faster and faster, my eyes widen, and suddenly I find myself more aware of my surroundings.
Waves off the shore— when the remnants of something that was once so strong is brought right before me.
Waves breaking— when I find myself battling out at sea to stay up, only to be washed out, but in the end, I rise back up and feel that full breath of air in my chest.

The ocean has a lot to say, and so does the rain. The ocean is gentle in the way it settles, allowing me to close my eyes and take it all in. And just when I’ve taken that breath, it riles me back up and urges me to keep moving. The water is a reminder that I am alive, that I am both strong and weak, and that I have it in me to rise and beat the odds.

So when the waves or the raindrops finally speak to you,
I hope that in that moment,
your mind is at peace,
and your heart is in the right place.
Just enough for you to accept what it has to say,
to breathe it in and live in it.

coming home to you

my body is in constant war between what i want
and what i think is right for me

and when every bone in my body aches for you
and every pulse builds myself up for the inevitable

you with all your gentleness
and with all your love
look me in my eyes
hold my hands close to your chest
and say
it’s alright.

and in that moment i simply know that 
that is all it takes
to free
and allow myself
to come home to you

Art by @butterflyyboy

the bare minimum

my thoughts are difficult to gather
my words are getting way too ahead of themselves to form the right thing to say
but there is no one right thing to say, is there?

when you’re around me
i lose myself
and whether or not this is a good or bad thing
i wouldn’t have it any other way

it’s a funny thing
when the doors close and you leave my side
i find myself back to the where i was in the beginning
my thoughts racing
my heart aching

my mind goes back to those quiet seconds
when all i feel is your
lips touching that soft spot on my neck
hands gently touching my back
soft breath moving against my skin
it pulls me closer in every way

now i’m left with thoughts of you with nothing to hold onto
stay with me and let me love you in every way

— you don’t know it, but you bring me to my knees just by doing the bare minimum

happy birthday

quiet nights
and warm conversations about the sky, the ground, and everything in between

you take a deep breath
and i brush my hair back and look up

you take a sip of your drink
and feel the warmth flowing down your chest

our eyes meet
and i see the light of the moon reflecting back at me

in this moment, you smile at me
and i let out a soft laugh for the way everything falls right where it should

this sound night
and you

— there’s no other way i’d have it.

how a universe is made

i want to make a universe out of you

pick out all the times i saw the light in your eyes
and create stars out of them
drawing constellations from the way i trace lines with my fingers around your body
keeping the heat between us two when all we know are each other’s skin
this will be the same heat of our sun
when there is darkness and i reach out to you for light
this will be the same light of our moon
and the forces that come from your every laugh, cry, or shout
will be the same forces that will keep our universe alive

if only i could,
readily and wholeheartedly,
i would give you the sun, moon, and stars.

but i’ve come to realise that
we’ve created a whole universe on our own.

i look up to you as if
you carry the sun, moon, and stars.
but baby,
you are the universe we’ve come so far creating all on our own.

and this,
this is the universe i call my home.

— how a universe is made