The beauty of sandpaper is that
it makes rough things smooth
and smooth things rough.

-

As if with their souls.

-

Animals communicate so beautifully,
with their entire body, and not just their words.

-

Repeat after me.
I can shun my ego and my desire for power,
Without undermining myself.

-

Constantly fluctuating between
Am I too much?
And
Am I enough?

-

Every now and then,
I lay in bed and ask myself a redundant question.
I ask myself why you aren't here.

I know why you aren't.
And yet,
every now and then,
I ask it.

I ask to make myself feel a certain kind of pain
that I think I should be feeling.
But because I know the answer,
it never really works.

And yet,
I ask it,
every now and then.

-

Everytime I hear this song,
I'm tossed back to my memory of us.
The magic of unfinished conversations,
of a page unturned.
The beauty of the uncertainty,
not knowing if we would shatter or survive.
The lived experience of knowing the end is near,
our ever climaxing song.

-

For shouldn't it be the number of fears added to your vocabulary,
instead of the number of years, that tell your age?
Because isn't it funny that my two year old nephew's favorite song is about war, death and destruction
just because it has the words 'Red Balloons' in it.

-

When I asked you what came first?
Music or Dance?
You argued it all started with a heartbeat,
I argued it all started with the sway
of the leaf in the wind.

-

His eyes are magic, she thought as she shifted her gaze from the stars to him. It was chilly, but the good kind of chilly. Just chilly enough for his hands to warm her up completely as they moved from resting on her knee to slowly and cautiously digging through the layers to her waist. The first touch made her sit up. She was expecting a hundred thoughts to pass through her head, but nothing came, so she let herself sink a little deeper. They talked through it, through the kissing and the touching and the knowing. The constant change in his voice, his expressions, fascinated her and excited her simultaneously. She wondered if they would stay, the stars, as his hands ventured deeper, as did his tongue, as did his thoughts, deeper into her. Slowly, completely consumed by them, the chill disappeared and only the warmth was left. His warmth. Keeping herself wrapped in it, she wondered if it was enough to keep her warm through the cold cold winter, that was yet to come. And then she looked into his eyes again and realised there was enough magic there.

-