prose, poetry, photography


honey eyes
of roasted almonds
peering in-between
a mane of golden locks
running straight
like waterfalls spilling

reaching the ends
of her lips
a smile bright
filling the empty space
with waves crashing
down upon me -

I smile back.

Her complexion
the skin she wears
is a mix of two colors
of two beautiful palettes
that become one hue-
she is 


of me.

She is the budding
of a pollination
that only beauty
could foresee. 

Her steps are light
like falling petals
but she blooms
like Spring never ends
and Autumn

is her name.

I like to read your stuff. but over and over they're about that girl. it seems like you can't get over her and the thought of her and everything. it makes me frustrated haha idk why. but I realized I do the same thing. and I just get frustrated about myself more.

well aren’t you observant! haha, but thank you though. It’s really just an outlet for me because if I don’t, then I’ll actually go crazy. So, yeah, I’m just gonna keep writing about what bothers me because that’s what it is to me. And don’t be frustrated - just try something new.

Richard Linklater, Julie Delpy, and Ethan Hawke @ Tribecca Film 2013

-Practice makes perfect.


Photo found in a book.


Photo found in a book.

bits and pieces

I try to get rid of you but the world won’t let me forget your name. I can not get rid of you like they did in the old days. There are memories of you that exist outside of the realm of my mind, outside the memories that I have seen and live through. These memories, they exist in binary bits spread throughout fields of interconnected networks that strain to keep your very being alive, your very humanness intact. It’s not like the times of the old where distance will force one to move and forget until all of their essence disappears. But, no, the world keeps you alive through your interactions with the world, and the world includes me. For every photo that finds its way across the fields of people, it somehow reaches me. For every word that you write, I find myself reading it as if you were still alive to me. The world is keeping you alive, but for me I want nothing more than for you to be gone. To cease to exist, to have who you were to stop being recalled by my memory each time I see your name because all it does is tell me that you exist even after we were the end. And to know that you live on after the inevitable end still causes great pain.

Why can’t the world stop reminding me of you?

They’re a female duo that meshes their voices into an unbelievable harmony. They’re too coooooool. 

(Source: Spotify)

don’t just sit there

Did you find love?
This deep unsettling
beating of drums
of your canvas chest
echoing against the
acoustics of your ribcage.

Do you feel the slow 
hallucination blinding
your sight
a tunnel vision
where the only thing you see
is this train-wrecked love affair?

Tell me what you want to know
so this wait
this eternity that
I live each day
will become a forever
that blooms like sweet
cherry blossoms
that never lose their pink,
their red, your beautiful forevers. 

Can you find love again?
When this tunnel becomes
a never ending ocean
where you see everything
and nothing -

I’ve lost the drums
of my heart 
but it murmurs
and tells me

to find love again. 


No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.

We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

(Dead Poets Society, 1989)

nothing Serious

Rolling around in the twin bed with the blue sheets and the green blanket tossed now on the floor, the spring night breeze slips through the crack between the windows and touches our naked bodies gently, blanketing us in a cool touch. The heat is gone, and the moment has passed like the wrinkles of these sheets, the damp feel of perspiration still existing, still clinching on our skin. The residue of the heat is cooled, and when it becomes cooled we become only two beating thumps lying on top of each other. 

I touch her hand, to trace her fate lines wondering if the one that runs across her palms mean that what we are will go on longer. But it falls short before I can even reach pass the middle of her hand, and I pull away. I open my eyes and the lights of the city peek through, and I can see the fall and rise of her shoulders, the perfect curve from her back to her hips. I can’t see her face, only the strands of loose black hair sprawled across the pillow reaching towards me. 

I can’t sleep so I take in her breathing, take in the late thumps of the walls speaking, take in the speeding of midnight taxis breaking new wind. I try to think, to let my mind wander into something but it doesn’t. It takes the night as it is and it leaves me silent on my bed. 

I hear her arm shift, her hand reaching behind her searching for mine. I let her have it, her fingers enwrapping mine. 

She whispers a good night, but I don’t say anything back pretending to be a sleep.

It’s nothing serious, I say to myself. It’s nothing serious as the heat fades and the moment has passed like the wrinkles of the bed sheet the next morning. They’ll be straighten and forgotten by tomorrow, and he would move on. 

It was Spring, but nothing serious.

do you have the her movie link

i do, i do, but do i want to share it with you is the question. just kidding, but i threw it out like a couple of weeks ago. you can search it on solarnet or solarmovie or something solar i think? enjoi