What’s the Point?

loveletterstoaghost

 

 

Haunted.

I am haunted,

chased by ghosts

of a past that

is gone,

of a future that

will never be.

My sister

told me that

I should find happiness

even if that means

changing my life

drastically,

leaving all of the people

I know and love

behind.

She said that love is

possible

if I look.

But not with Johnny.

Why should I try

if I can’t hold

his hand,

bite his lip

as we wrap ourselves

in passion

and flames?

What is the point of

finding a love

that shines in tones of gray

when I once had a love

that glowed in

reds

yellows

greens

blues

all the colors

of life?

What is the point

if it’s not his hand,

his mouth,

his voice,

his touch?

There isn’t one

without him.

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life of leaving home

I love it 🙂

ramblings

Yesterday, I moved back to school. Heaved crates upon boxes, loaded backpacks atop suitcases, but most importantly, gathered heart and mind for another hellish year to come. It feels familiar, almost, the countless trips from the car to my upstairs room. Sometimes taking the elevator, other times toughing it out and going for the stairs. And I can hear their voices again, whether my mom is yelling at me to sort out the shower curtains or my dad mumbling about furniture arrangement.

But things are different this time—my mom makes sure I’m settled and then leaves. It isn’t because I was an arrogant brat that refused help, because I am the last to be so noble. It is because she does so much already, and I need to grow up, step up. So I tell her to go, because all that’s left for me is to unpack, sort little things…

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WWC: Fit To Write (Why I run)

A Love Letter To Italy

Not Just Another "Dolce Vita"

Dear Italy,

Today marks 10 years to the day since we first met.

I was a reluctant and grumpy teenager then, and although I had heard a lot about you and was curious to meet you, you didn’t make a very good first impression.

I was already unhappy due to having been taken away from my friends for a good portion of the summer, but the burnt and lifeless scene you presented me with on the tarmac of Fiumicino Airport in 2003 didn’t win you any favour in my eyes. Neither did the subsequent hours-long quarantine in a back room in the airport terminal because our plane had come from SARS-infected Toronto, or the heat sickness I suffered on my first trip to Pompei.

Slowly but surely though, Italy, you revealed some of your charms to me. First, through a young, sweet waiter who paid me some attention…

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Impossibly Blue: A Memory

loveletterstoaghost

 

The sky beamed, its surface impossibly blue. The car sped along the coastal road past beach cottages with terra cotta shingles and stucco walls, past miles of endless beach stretched out like a lover sweetly caressing the oncoming waves.  This is my most vivid memory, my happiest memory, because it was my last day with him.

Pearl Jam’s Black thrummed through the speakers, mixing with the wind and floating out through the open window. I looked out at the sea, the ocean I would probably never gaze at again, and I closed my eyes trying to take a snapshot of this moment.  I could feel the sand between my toes and the warm water lapping at my feet.  I could hear his voice whispering in my ear.  I could feel his fingers brushing against my cheek and his lips slowly pressing into mine.

We had stopped at a quiet beach…

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Weekly Writing Challenge: I Remember