Category: writing

  • it is beautiful, it is sad

    It is unbearably beautiful, and it is unbearably sad. I am sitting on a bench in a quiet corner of the botanical gardens, and I am trying to pinpoint, once again, this emotion that has been a constant thrum throughout my life. People drift by, and I can almost feel time, its inevitable essence, flow…

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  • vancouver, 5.29

    Vancouver, you’re as gray as usual today, but as my hometown – in a way – I never really mind. my thoughts and worries are bouncing in my head, but the rattles are drowned out by buzzing construction, engines, a horn or two, someone shouting about God. I find a strange comfort in the messy…

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  • summer nights, couch

    Cool, light breeze whispering in between the curtains; carrying that gentle summer night. I’m undone, on the couch, each second breathed in and out, slow steady thoughts, slow steady life. Lights dimmed, record player spinning, each note dancing, intertwining dna with that summer wind, murmurs of the world; it’s okay, it’s okay, it’ll be okay.…

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  • An ode to space

    There’s something about space that’s so terrifying and humbling that makes you want to grab the people you love and never let go, because what we have on this little blue dot of a planet is all we have really ever known. The photo the Voyager took in 1990 never fails to strike a deep…

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  • Inevitable

    Inevitably we will part ways some day – from this world vast and indifferent to the criss crossing of lives and souls. I dread the day we’ll say goodbye. I dread the day we graze each other’s eyes one last time, never to meet again in this life. But isn’t it true that the boundaries…

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  • quiet

    the loudest parts of recovery happens in the quietest corners of bedrooms. witnessed by nobody and nothing but that poster from childhood, the bed with its tangled up sheets – the sliver of 3 am streetlight from curtain cracks.   there is no trophy or triumph, only the beating of the heart thrumming pulse steadied…

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  • more like a relapse

    Take a pill, Swallow doubt like a shot in the dark. If I slip I slip, Into love more like a relapse. There’s a flame inside stuck on ignition, spitting smoke more like an SOS. Digging myself out from between the ribs, More like an exorcism

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  • Wattpad Account Reactivated

    A long time ago I used Wattpad as the primary medium to upload my writing until I moved most / all of it onto my website here (and my old blog). I re-activated my old Wattpad account and am posting some of my works on there now! This website is still going to be the…

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  • i woke up to vancouver rain against the bedroom windows again

    the soft patter of raindrops in the morning syncs with the slow thrum of the heart, weaving melancholy, ebbing anxiety, i close my eyes and try to re-free fall back into dreams – where there’s peace and reprieve, where the weight is able to untangle itself from the chest between the ribs washing out through…

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  • weigh.

    I leave with nothing but a bag on my back. Nothing special, faded linen worn over the years by calloused hands of a 10, 11, 12 year old. At the market they say they’ll take anything. I give what I have, I give everything. They put the contents up on tarnished measuring scales, they weigh…

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