If I slice my heart open, you will see flours sprout and roots sewing the pieces back together gently and softly.

If I turn my back to you and offer up my spine as a fishing rod, you will see feathers nesting in between my bones.

If I open up my palm and reach out to yours, you can look down on my life line growing.

My scars are there, unhidden, unapologetic.

Look closely and see how they have healed, untainted by pain, unaffected by loss.

My skin reminds me of your touch and my heart beats singing your name.

But my skin is thick and remembers what it needs to grow brighter.

And my heart is fierce and only remembers how light is something that comes from within and not from people.

This is a story void of metaphors.

This is a tale with no symbolism.

This is a love letter.

This is a love letter to you.

You that you have brought my wilting heart back.

You have breathed the memories of what it feels like to be capable of generous love.

But love is fickle.

And when I say fickle and remember you, I stop myself.

I see how before we were the ghost of something undefined, we were the light of a burning candle in the midst of darkness.

But for now I cradle my heart, slowly, let it unfold, and tell it the story of how it overcame many crashing waves in order to enjoy the warm sun.



I stood under the scolding droplets for the longest time, thinking about the night I held your hand under the rain… Where was I taking you? 

If stories were true about loves and forevers, well then with each drop falling on your forehead, I saw a little eternity of moments. 

So I took your hand, let go of the umbrella, and we ran… Clumsy and wild… Then you pulled me closer, under the flailing lantern lights embracing our silhouettes, and kissed me for all the flashbacks we didn’t get to have.

I promised you, in unspoken breathes, that my tainted fingertips will never tarnish your delicate skin. That the fire in my words will fall at your feet.

[…] I stood under the scolding water for all the eternities we didn’t bring to life, leaned against cold walls, and thought about the time i walked away in the rain, for fear of drowning you in me.


I miss home, I miss home terribly…

I don’t know where the walls are and if they still hold the same red brick roof… I’m not sure if  the cracked urn awaits patiently on the right side of the door, or if the dandelions still peak through the cement on the stairs… I just miss it terribly so…
The chilly mornings with the sound of silence, and the chaotic ruckus of family dinners…

I miss it deeply…

When I could crawl up in bed with my  mother because I needed to feel safe in someone’s arms, without explaining why a hole was piercing my brain…
When my brother got me tea and a grilled cheese sandwich because I got my period for the first time and didn’t understand what that meant…

I’m homesick to the memories that fill these walls. To the innocence that made me cry over my first break up. To the little excited girl who saw the first snow and got to snuggle at home all day.

I wish I could go back…

Heartaches are for the brave°

I’ve been thinking lately about coincidence and signs… How things happen in the most utter absurd way and yet, they turn out to be the very things you needed.

I have to admit, I’ve been going through a rough patch lately. Nothing grand or devastating, but still revealing. Through that period of time, I’ve been dissecting everything I’ve been doing and saying.

To be completely honest, I was so scared of spiraling. I had been holding on for such a long time, thinking that the moment I let go I would be lost in a labyrinth trying to untangle all the feelings that I didn’t want to deal with. So I held on. And on. And on…
Until my fingers became sweaty, and my arms were numb, and my heart grew, oh so very weary.

So I let go. I let go expecting to fall flat on my face.

And I did.

I had never felt such pain in my life. And I don’t say this lightly because I am someone who is very proud of her feelings. Unfortunately, and for the first time, I understood that a heartache is something that could be very physical. It’s as if  my heart was pumping too much blood into veins that were restricted with fear. I couldn’t breath, my lungs just collapsed. I remember my friend being there staring at me, feeling so helpless. And I kept yelling, asking him to make it stop. All I could say was “I don’t understand” over and over again until words made no sense at all… I’ve never felt this heavy before… I thought that these sort of ridiculous descriptions were only in books that used too many adjectives… Oh If I could wish anything, I would wish for you to never feel the way that I had felt that night…

So I fell and crashed and broke every single atom in me. But I didn’t spiral because you see, you can’t spiral when you’ve already crashed. And the good news about hitting rock bottom is that the only way is up. It takes a while to lick your wounds and patch up your ego. But you do it;  eventually.