the banishment
may your feet forget the path. may every road turn against you. may every compass point elsewhere. may every stranger send you the wrong way. may the trees themselves rearrange before allowing you to find me.
Latest
i dream you alive
there is a particular cruelty in waking from a dream of you. for a moment, i have you back. and all the love i still carry for you finally has somewhere to go again. then i wake up. and that is the cruelty of grief. sometimes it gives you back
from hell, with love
on the edge of 33: * gave up the wars that made others powerful. * left corporations to burn without me. * ended a two-year cycle of abuse. * let my own empire sink. * plucked my very first gray hair. * missed the roads and the feeling of being home for holiday. again. became
the gentlest witness
he told me he knew how badly the townsfolk had hurt me. he knew it back then, when i had already removed myself from the map and his messages went unanswered. he said he was sorry. for what they did to me. and for how easily they paraded me through
a small resurrection
she looked at me and said, "i don't think you lost yourself. i think you have just been in pain for so long that you forgot what it felt like to be you. but that is different from being gone. you are still there. i can still
main character malfunction
i get it. you see me in the spotlight, and you must think, this is one hell of a woman. maybe you saw in me everything you were told you were not allowed to become. but you forgot that powerful women still bleed. we still break. we still come home,
money, money, and money
the version of me in my twenties believed that life had three missions: knowledge, lifestyle, and love. only after growing older did i realize that was not enough. because out in the world, the three words people worship most are money, money, and money. and it is strangely hard to
after the parade
i tried to become a good person. i tried to shrink myself into something your love could keep safe. but here, they turned my pain into a carnival. they paraded me through the streets like a monster they could not kill. and i kept bandaging the same places they had
read at 2:17 AM
apologies to the ones i left unread, my inbox blown up while i vanished into thin air; i like the idea of being someone's peace- but unfortunately, i am a menace.
the archaeology of us
my beloved, these days, while the brutality of each battle with life got imprinted on your eyes and lips, i desperately tried to grab all the most beautiful memories of my life with all my strength, before everything is washed away in the whirlwind of time. those were also the
a bad pain perdu and a decade
i last seen Laurent at a French bistro in Saigon. i ordered a cocktail, he wanted to try the pain perdu. the forty-five minutes conversation was much about things and people that run in parallels: big corporations, his mother, Parisienne at their finest, someone else's man has
we're all alive tonight
on the days when i am trying to crawl out of alcohol withdrawal symptoms, like right now, i often think of a few lines by Charles Bukowski. "some men never die and some men never live but we're all alive tonight."
the notebook
quick notes at the bar
one reason. that's all they need to cut me down, and they'll do it without blinking. me? i've got twenty thousand, twenty thousand, reasons to burn it all to the ground, and yet here i am, quietly sitting in that corner of the bar,
the notebook
the consequence
the city doesn't love me. maybe it never did. people whisper my name like a curse they're trying not to invoke, or a storm they once survived and fear might come back stronger. they're terrified because i remind them of what they tried to
the notebook
borrowed skies
when all the expensive lipsticks in the world can no longer keep you calm, when all the luxury, the bright events, the perfect outfits, the exchange rates with too many zeros, and the direct flights to promised lands still cannot quiet the ache in your chest. and somewhere between those