Once, I gave a friend a painting, and she cried.
That was the whole story.
Behind my house, a bird cemetery is slowly growing.
It feels prophetic, as if forgiveness could come easily,
light as a wing.
Category: Sequences
Southbound
you shifted
with the axis of the night
giving up flesh
for the heartbeat
of a much bigger sky
The Mirror Line
A pause between dreams
unsent
Jagged lines, straight intent.
Feet apart,
worlds away.
In search of stillness,
recollections:
Stepping up—
a minimalist approach,
with no clear beginning,
no ultimate end,
where certainty and confusion
trade places.
Passing and glassing.
The mirror line.
I love what pulls me away
and brings me back altered—
films, series, a stranger
stepping briefly into my life.
I call it childish.
I keep wanting.
Everything looks strong from the outside.
But what excites me
loosens the knot,
returns me to the self I forget.
Images were never escape.
They were love.
Cinema, television, music.
It isn’t the year that matters.
It’s the heat.
The recognition.
A painting in shadow.
A movie seen too late
and always known.
Rooms that Never Fit
Everywhere we went, the world kept asking who we were.
Some rooms never fit,
no matter how small you make yourself.
And still,
I knew it long before you said the words.
One of us had already left.
We kept dreaming,
just never toward each other.
For a moment, the world felt
rehearsed
and I forgave it
for needing practice.
Nothing remembers,
yet everything knows
A whole world passes between
that day and today.
Because sometimes belonging
is a story you grow back into
only after leaving.
And what we find
is not the place we left,
but the one we carried-
quietly,
the whole way back.