Mama always tells me there’s nothing in this life worth crying for, but she cries every time I leave and every time I come back.
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The café was small, tucked between a hardware store and a secondhand bookshop on a side street off Houston. Its name, Les Fleurs Perdues, was
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I took you out when it got dark to look at the stars, far away from intrusive city lights, where we laid the hood of
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This is what I see tonight: you splayed out on a mattress, all the clocks set to winter. Because we both know our mutual fallibility,
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If you were an IKEA, I’d like to get lost in you. The arrows on the floor are of little help; you try to be
more loveIt burned my shoulder, having spat out from a small red flame. A small hole in my shoulder, all black and charred around the edges.
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There is a room inside me That was all window and no door, A chamber of echoing, high ceilings And light that was beautiful, but
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I learned the truth at seventeen, From Leonard Cohen and Janis Ian. I learned of love and pain and joy And how to love a
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thirty hours later you’re asleep and i’m sketching a portrait of something beautiful. i’ve never been an artist, i’m not doing it justice. i don’t
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Echoes of the Heart, No. 6 The Echo of Your Absence The Lingering Note of Absence The simple words we reach for “I miss you,”
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Twenty years ago on a pleasant summer day, I rode the Muni to Ocean Beach. The train car was crowded, as I recall, filled with
more loveHow can it be How can it be that someone like me that me
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