moments – rainy mornings

20 april 2018

I love rainy mornings
the kind where I can stay under covers
singing softly
about sweet things

If you were here,
I would nestle my head on your shoulder
we’d speak softly
about sweet things
in that place between sleeping and waking
where your breath is so peaceful
and the world is so silent
that I’m finally calm
so safe in your arms

But until then, I’ll write
soft words
about you
the sweetest thing of all


“I wanna know,
have you ever seen the rain?”

post-call from Panama

I, 12:15 AM, 6 February 2018:

Your hair sticks up & your eyes shine green w love & respect & admiration, so softly looking at me
and it’s so powerful. you have no idea how it feels to be looked at so lovingly, how it makes me want to be. I know you would do anything for me, you see & you love so very deeply

and I feel so warm and safe under your gaze, though I know you’re miles away. it’s the most spectacular thing, the best part of my life, still, to this day

II, 1:38 AM, 9 February, 2018:

because I never could have imagined this to be late night talks with the best of me.

talking through insecurities at midnight, cracking jokes during the daylight; spitting rhymes instead of goodbyes and your beautiful green/blue eyes transmitted thru low quality wifi.

I never could have imagined how happy this makes me feel, how what we have is still so wonderful and real. you’re still here, with me, regardless of the geography.

There are never words enough
but you will always be, my love


that’s the way every day goes, every time we have no control
If the sky is pink + white, everything will turn out alright
It’s the same way you showed me (shooowed me)
You showed me love
Glory from above

moments – tropical blue

January 2018 – Jarabacoa, Dominican Republic

mopeds move between lanes without lines, broken aluminum buildings & fallen signs

Frank Ocean plays through Lenny’s uncle’s beat-up truck
a manual drive

We’re old friends reminiscing in new places
about moving and staying and leaving and playing and falling in love, right?

we’re similar in that way

both silently missing the ones we thought we had to leave
hoping they’ll keep a place for us
kind of weird because
kind of we were lovers
but we were never real enough to be in love

even now

surrounded by gentle mountains, blue-grey twilit clouds and telephone wires. palm trees wave their large green leaves as the wind picks up

the water is so heavy in the air, pressing down on my chest. music and memories of you filter in through the open windows

humidity accumulating in the corners of my eyes

but I don’t want to tell him how much I miss you
I can barely bear to tell myself

the city of eternal spring passes
blue & white
like the flowers on my sundress

but darker now
through the rainclouds

still too scared to speak my thoughts
maybe that’s why it feels so good to hear them sung

moments – skyscraper sunset

Colectivo 15, 27 marzo 2017

“I want something just like this”


The sun is setting over the skyscrapers of the city, silhouetted in different shades of pink. Still astounded by the underside of the bridge, so intricately painted with colors and patterns, though nothing can rival the sky at this hour

Every time I come into Buenos Aires, it just makes me want to come back. It’s like every city I’ve ever lived in is subconsciously competing with all the others, but this one might just come out on top.
Where you wanna go? How much you wanna risk?

It’s all so enough. Not to say that there’s nothing I could change, but I feel so happy. Baby victories, making my own life here. That’s the cool thing about losing it all and creating from scratch – when you do it right, it’s so rewarding to know you did it.

moments – transit from Niagra, 2

There was a time, maybe 5 hours into the drive home, when I wasn’t sure if color existed in the outside world anymore. Every expanse of the ground was white, the trees I sketched outside the window as black and lifeless as the asphalt we drove on, the sky colored an unending grey. The road seemed endless to home, where all the work I had ignored all weekend awaited
It wasn’t until I looked back inside the car and saw the magenta of Freedom’s sweater, took out my headphones and heard the laughter of my now-friends who had kept me so warm all weekend, that I really believed the world had color again.

moments – summer storm

April 2017 

Pins & University


twirling under the first warm rain of the season, alone and free as a bird
I laugh as I take off my flats and jump in the puddles that are already forming

if only playing in this early summer storm was enough 
it would let me forget 

but how many times do I have to spin and how fast do I have to run to get away from the memories of the boy I love 
who, after all this, doesn’t think I’m enough 

But I’ll never be enough for someone who hates who they are

thunderstorms surround me
and the sharp gravel of the city streets crunches underneath my bare feet 
my blue suede skirt twirls in the purple wind; the grey-indigo sky turbulent 

As the wind becomes a roar and the caress a downpour, I follow the yellow lights back home. Hoping and dreading, knowing you’ll be there, too — 

No matter where I go or what I do, I can’t seem to get away from you

moments – our love is not God

February 2017

“This Town” – Niall Horan / “Suburbia” – Troye Sivan


after feeling it all fall apart with the boy upstairs, visions of Heathers dance in my head

as I lie in the darkness, alone in bed. 
So scared of losing the God I used to idealize 

I know I’m supposed to draw, or sleep, but all I can do is wait and play these two songs on repeat 
Snow falls on the cold city outside my window 

where everyone I care about 

is out 

without me

Night lights

blue black and purple-grey clouds

obscure the illusory love with fog and doubt

Nostalgia embedded in every street of the blue neighborhood in California I used to inhabit

Was it ever real? The love Lana sings about? The one that matters, the one that I so badly want to feel

I always think I have it

until a month goes by, and it’s no longer ride-or-die. 
they were never what I wanted; it’s the idea I’ve always been in love with. 

desperately mourning something that never was

moments – wild California skies

December 28, 2016 

Highway 101, on the drive home from Pinnacles National Park

John Denver, “Wild Montana Skies”


John Denver’s Rocky Mountain Collection twangs from the stereo of our Vovlo cross-country wagon, the car that always came with us no matter where we went. My six-foot-two brother is squeezed next to me in the backseat, going on about “family time” as we annoy my sister with our loud camp songs and attempt to beat our father at a car game we never won as kids. Small-town signs and palm trees silhouetted through the windows against the clear California sky.

The orange of the sunset fades to pink, then blue, then black. The stars are indistinguishable from the headlights on the highway the closer we get to home. The music gets louder and the conversation quiets, until it’s just me, thinking, watching my inky country fly by. John Denver sings softly about the American Dream, the world I grew up idealizing: hard work, family, the wild West. It makes me so hopeful for my future, grateful for my freedom.

My whole world is open roads & endless possibilities

// initial Instagram post:

Continue reading “moments – wild California skies”


the sky is the softest of twilit blues, the air heavy with humidity, sweet as the honeysuckle vines that line maryland avenue. the south river shimmers on the horizon, a cerulean expanse of warm water where we would go skinny dipping every fourth of july. summer; home.

Scrambling up our wooden playground just to slide back down, grabbing the colored ribbons of the eight roly-poly puppies our dog had brought into the world a mere six weeks ago

That blue summer night, I felt so free. No math or gymnastics, no place I had to be. So warm, seated shoulder-to-shoulder and in laps on the grass. blanketed beneath the fading sky: my two sisters, my mom, and I.

We were together, as a family. Or as much of a family as we could be. That night was enough to forget we were missing my dad, fighting an undeclared war in Iraq.

fireflies flicker way up high, like magic – on again, off again. the darker it gets, the more of them I see, lighting up the old oak trees.

there were nights when we would catch them, my little sister and I. hold them covered in our hands, peeking in with one eye. sometimes, Mom would let us move them to glass jars, permeated with just enough holes so they could breathe

we’d watch them flicker by our bedsides, like nightlights.
until the morning came and they were just black-and-orange bugs again; crawling, encaged.
we, too, knew how it felt to be caught by life involuntarily
so we unscrewed the tops, and let the fireflies fly free