Mere hours separate us now. Let this time of longing be sweet. Five excruciating hours between this moment where I lay in the darkness typing this and the moment you emerge from glass doors at the airport. Time takes on such a different quality when I am with you and when I am not. Time,…
Tag: Letters
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…
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…
Letter to a young writer in NYC
…It’s funny you know, but it feels as though I have a better relationship with my father now he’s gone. Our relationship was always tumultuous. We loved each other as much as we disliked each other, and those are the most intriguing connections we share on earth; more so because the absence of say,…
Reading broken, writing drunk: an open letter to Clementine Von Radics
Your books are maps. This is what I understood. I never went anywhere without a poem lest I lose myself in places where girls like me should not be lost. Places like the cleavage. Or clavicles. Places like love. Or worse – possession. Places like wounds that must be tended to, and places…
The poem hunter
By the end of some days I hunt words for you. Small gifts at the parting of the day. Not unlike the occasional dead bird made as a peace offering from the pet cat. So I look for poems. I look for verses or passages. I look for pages in between the binds of books….
You return at impossible times
The memory of you remains an ever-fixed mark on all I see. The image of your face recalls itself with delicately woven fibers, patterning the windows in my house and the frozen glimpses in hallways, pathways, byways. I cannot look at my own face in the mirror without seeing your fingerprints stamped upon my neck. Tiny…
Relationship status: getting acquainted with your absence
In this deathly quiet I notice everything. How the air feels and tastes. The hum of silence against my skin. It’s icy warmth. I notice the sounds I hear. Where my stomach is inside my body and unease it nudges at me. I notice of the way the blood moves underneath my skin. I am…
A love letter to my father
Baba, So many years have passed since I have done this. I do not remember the last time I wrote to you, and it has not been for lack of need, or wanting to do so. I need to be honest: at some point, I just gave up on you. There did not seem to…
part-broken, part-whole 