Postcards from Istanbul /2

“To write words I put a symbol in place of an absent sound. To write the words ‘I love you’ requires a further, analogous replacement, one that is much more painful in its implication. Your absence from the syntax of my life is not a fact to be changed by written words.” – Anne Carson…

Postcards from Istanbul /1

“What impels me to write you all the time? Before I can even turn around to look, from the unique destination, unique you understand me, unnameable and invisible, that bears your name and has no other face than your own, before I can even turn around for a question, at every moment the order to…

One breath. Then another. (snippets to get you through the day)

  What others think of you is not your business. Focusing on others is a colossal waste of perfectly good energy. Train yourself to love without receipts. No matter how easy it is, desist from cruelty. Your ability to be gentle will always be your most attractive feature. If someone tells you that you’re too…

Sext – One

Every pore of me opens, like spring happening to flowers, in the anticipation of your skin meeting mine. I am wet and parched. I am hard and the softest ever. I am all blood, bone, and muscle, and flesh, and flesh. Sink into me. Straddle my hips. Push your sex into my sex the way…

A letter to you, from 15 years ago

Dear S, I was waiting for your call all last night and while we were at dinner. Adrian refused to enter into a discussion with me about anything. See, she claims each time we start a conversation my blasted mobile goes off and the ringing drives her crazy. So I told her to please, please make…

How can you not return?

  Isn’t it just the truth that the places you ought to stay away from are the places you have loved the best? Ancient ruins, abandoned forts, haunted houses, and people. Some places you simply must not return to. Yet, return you do. It’s an itch you need to scratch. A boil that beseeches a…

All the world’s words are yours.

There are some words I never want to hear again. This is one of them.  This word is you. This word spells your name, only in different letters. Letters that belong to an alphabet of a language I do not speak anymore because the only other speaker no longer speaks to me. It is a dead…

Leaving town

It’s been a while since we met here, hasn’t it? I’m sorry I don’t do this oftener. It feels not dissimilar to gutting myself with a cheese knife. It’s not for lack of things to say, words, or even how I feel. It’s just measly armour. So pathetic. Always prided myself on such courage but I…