I thought hydrangeas were meant to bloom in October, but they’re no longer growing. The flowers by your empty room wilted, their stems bowing as if mourning with me - or maybe it’s me mourning them, mourning you. I remember when you arranged them, humming a tune I can’t remember the name of, but can still feel deep in my chest: a melody that lingered even after the final petals fell, a love that remains, even when you can’t hold someone’s hand anymore. The hydrangeas outside

Sometimes the hill is so steep that you can't lower your feet against gravity slowly enough to cool down the pace. Each step gets faster, your heels pressing harder into the earth, your backpack pushing down on you, making any attempt to slow yourself futile. Muscles resign, and then you’re running. When you were young, were you ever so excited when a loved one arrived that you dropped the kendama and were out the front door before it stopped bouncing catawampus on the floor?

Pomegranate in hand. Heavy, firm.  I cut the protruding tip From the top of this round fruit. Unfolded, I am amazed by the complex...

There is something that passes by,  with my every move.--Oh look! Is that a caterpillar prancing in my shoe? I watch as it trails higher,...

a bird sits upon the silence of dawn, Its colorful wings, like a brushstroke on the sky's pale canvas. across the stream, i bend down to...

The day before yesterday, I woke  to a room  empty of your name. The air was thick with the weight  of unspoken things– quiet as the...

To my great surprise, my huge and unruly delight, tasting the blackberry brought almost unimaginable joy that spilled from my soul like...

Is anyone else scared? Not just “I’m worried about a thing or two” scared— I mean the kind of scared that lives deep in your bones. That...

The second silence hits She never knocks, just slips in like smoke through the cracks. Soft and sweet, but always sharp around the edges—...