archives

letter

This tag is associated with 23 posts

Ticks

Dear dear, I am not good at making friends. Most of the time, I make it only about it myself, about my faulty focus, about how I am doing this new thing, how I don’t want everyone to know but listen to all this unknown, how even now in this tumbling self-centered supposed selflessness, I … Continue reading

Holidays

Dear dear, These were the holidays. Such is a banal, limp sentence, an obviousness that would knowingly ignite even the most unaware moth. Yet it is blindingly true. These were the holidays. These were the gasps of us among the giving dishes, the bony fish, the dogs that do not feel like the dogs we … Continue reading

Ga ga goo go

Dear dear, In nine months, I am happy to be the first to present to you a healthy, though squawking birth, a weird congratulation for the act of insemination of a thing that is meant to be more than a thing, a failed bird, a busted egg, an omelet if the bird-part sticks faster than … Continue reading

omega 3

dear dear, it was said that this would be the time of my life. sometimes, it is. days wear sunlight and i can hear an ocean miles away. some of the salt is found in my cup. other times, though, i sit here, baked by the sun, burnt by it, thinking what it means to be turned … Continue reading

An update

Love, Every day, it piles. All I need to tell you. All I haven’t. Some of it is trivial. I have a cat. Her nails are long. She scratches me. Some of it is important. I have a cat. Her nails are long. She scratches me. And it is this repetition of both, in both, … Continue reading

between two points

Dear distant friend, I am bustling through Spain onboard a sleek, undisturbed universe of a bullet train with sun licking the already-burnt skin and a raw, restless summer peeking at countrysides past and farmlands unseen.  My prose is the same unadulterated self-masturbatory streaking you are used to in a style shared with the likes of … Continue reading

Bang

Dear dear, I want to tell you of the summer where I went crazy. It was hot and I was wet with wilderness the way the ocean is when it combs rock into the soft cooing of a beach and he hadn’t quite killed himself yet. My dad would tell me that we do not … Continue reading

when when meant something

dear dear, it was said that this would be the time of my life. sometimes, it is. days wear sunlight and i can hear an ocean miles away. some of the salt is found in my cup. other times, though, i sit here, baked by the sun, burnt by it, thinking what it means to be turned … Continue reading

time off

dear dear, what does it mean to work? is your every day filled with meaning? do you mean to make it to the next day? are your coworkers mean? are hospitals demeaning? or is it all just mean, an average, a lump, a benign thing that takes the excitement of life and death alike? i … Continue reading

Blue .

Dear Dear, I am unsure if you have noticed, but in the cumulative three weeks you have hidden in Montreal, it has not rained. Snow has buried. Sun has bloomed. But even among the heaviest clouds that mute the world in gray, all that was held was the promise of spring, of a slow walk, … Continue reading