the poet

he’s just a boy when his mother first comes home with her secret. he watches at the door as she kisses a man goodbye, a smile filling her lips. he thinks of his father, thrown across the couch in the living room because he was too exhausted to finish the work he had to do. his mother catches him in shock and annoyance. her eyes flash as she places a finger to her lips. “not a word,” she hisses. he nods and turns to go, but still catches her last words. “i’m lonely and overworked. the boy’s father does nothing for me. i deserve this.” he presses his lips together and hides under his covers. he’s just a teenager when his first girlfriend goes behind his back with someone else. he hardly dares to confront her on it, but it has to happen. she looks at him nervously, wringing her hands behind her back. “it just felt right. you and me—we aren’t going anywhere. i don’t think it will work out with us. i deserve someone who can make me laugh. i love him.” he shrugs and walks awa...

on days like these i yearn to be rid of the repressing conventions of small talk and agendas; to travel where the wind takes me. to not have to put up a mask of cheerfulness because i can’t define the twisting in my stomach. to be free and alone.

she lived in a world with rainbows and flowers and a tapestry of hues, but as she looked at the sky she realized that it was her favourite colour, for that was where every other shade united to create one glorious masterpiece

some days i want to wear dark lipstick and thick eyeliner and leather jackets.  some days i want to wear blowy sundresses and have a flower crown in my hair and a sun kiss on my cheek.   some days i want to wear pale woollen sweaters pulled to my chin and the tips of my fingers; long socks and big glasses.  some days i want to wear ringer tees and converse, earbuds drowning out the noise of the world.  i want to be all these things, yet none of them—  because i can be defined, but i won’t be confined.

when one can feel a sunset—not only see it, but feel it in one’s very soul—one must either be porously happy or desperately sad.  you cannot feel a sunset if you do not feel absolute.

“thank you for understanding”, they told me.  no problem.  it’s what i do, isn’t it? i understand;  i nod and comply and everything goes smoothly sometimes i wish i weren’t so good at it,  that i could let myself say no. because i can understand why you would break your promise, but that doesn’t make it right -  and understanding and acceptance are two very different things.  but sometimes people use them as synonyms

There is a Portuguese term that I heard recently and can’t get out of my head. Saudade . It means "the love that remains"; a nostalgic longing for something or something that you have loved. It holds a suppressed awareness that the object of your longing might never return.  I wonder if it can have a different meaning, too. If you can feel saudade for someone that is still with you. If your love can remain, not for the possibility that they may return, but for the chance that they may feel the same way. So you wait, your love holding on. Praying, hoping, dreaming for them to love you in return.