Write me a song that will sing the sorrows of yesterday away,
while you rest your head gently upon my lap,
perfectly filling the empty space as if it was made for your head only.
Dance with me until the sun comes knocking on our front door,
each move, translating into a conversation,
in which words no longer hold any meaning.
Taste the cravings of stormy oceans,
each step, closer to the bottomless shores of affection,
as nature contemplates the promise of a better tomorrow.
Feel the warmth of my lips as they imperceptibly brush your forehead,
forever imprinting an invisible moment,
entwining with your effortless attempts…

Dear Oregon,

The longest place I have ever spent time in,
You are the reason I am me;
Why petrichor is a word that exists in my vocabulary,
Why I sometimes long for coastal waves.
Your pristine nature is impeccable,
Unable to be replicated or captured
From every shade of blue mountains
To everything in between green trees.
I’ll always remember
The delicate hints of various fruits in your pinot noir,
The inhale of intense resin from the pine trees.
If I could capture the feeling of soaking in a hot spring,
It would be the taste of fizzy kombucha flavored with local honey,
The past time of chasing waterfalls,
Childhood memories filled…

My DNA may not resemble yours,
But my profound love for nature
Stems from the way you attentively cared
For the smallest creature.

I learned to stand my ground
In the face of adversity.
You taught me
The importance of family above all.

To dream of a better future
For someone else
Is the ultimate act of love
But you did more than dream.

My DNA may not resemble yours,
But my yearning for travel
Is a reflection of your curiosity
An acknowledgement of your innocence.

You wiped my tears
When I experienced my first heartbreak. …

You try so hard to find reason,
The purpose of it all.
Deriving meaning from
The everyday worries — the synchronicities.

Seeking validation in your objective experience,
Be it in the alignment of the stars,
The events of a dream,
Or the length of the lines on your palm.

Even your recollection of a moment is unreliable,
You tell the narrative how you remember it,
Narrowing in on how the other person made you feel,
The words that they chose to articulate.

But the truth of life is,
This same story will be told differently
A month from now,
A…

To the boy studying intently at the cafe,
I recognize your struggle for success,
Your need to spend hours memorizing facts and figures
Only to forget them several weeks from now.

To the old man who walks his dog every evening,
I value your consistency,
Your steady pace is an insistent reminder
To remove the headphones, slow down, and feel my rising chest.

To the runner across the street at 5 in the morning,
I admire your tenacity for growth,
Your disciplined nature that resists every desire
To sleep in for just a few more minutes.

To the colleague balancing…

I used to believe,
possessing expensive things,
meant that you were successful,
equating other’s failures
to their own demise.
I used to believe,
not identifying with your emotions,
meant that they weren’t real,
as if they could be swept away.
I used to believe,
restriction was a sign of progress,
a symbol of discipline and willpower,
that pain meant the efforts needed to be increased.
I used to believe,
a jam-filled doughnut,
and creamer in my coffee
could only be consumed on cheat days
when no one was watching.
I used to believe,
the answer no
always had room for interpretation,
excusing others’ actions for my miscommunication.
I used to believe,
laughing at jokes…

Loving a boy was easy.
He bathed you in attention
focusing solely on fleeting needs,
like a child learning to walk for the first time,
he was fully absorbed in the overwhelming stimulations.

Loving a boy was easy.
He didn’t know what tomorrow promised;
changing his mind in conjunction with his emotions,
but his capacity for compassion was abundant,
easily amenable to your contradictions.

Loving a boy was easy.
He didn’t know how to love beyond what he couldn’t see. …