those heads, hair reminded me of fall leaves, an array of colors, and the bold ones, of course, bare branches. I never noticed how luminescent white hair is, how it attracts light. Maybe that’s why some old people glow. Some say it’s the wisdom, now I think it has to do with the hair. 

When you are gone, my shoulder is still warm from sitting next to you, the song still resonating in the walls. It’s the moment before you are really gone anyways.

I am not accustom to your tears. My chest cracks open in an attempt to swallow them. 

He said they look like soldiers left on the battlefield, those golden oak leaves. On a sunny, windy afternoon, they lit up and danced a spirited dance, hundreds of them. 

The weight of “yes” and “no”, I sometimes overestimate one and underestimate the other. 

I think I am quite pretty, especially when I smile. 

Dad recalled happily the first time he opened my diaper full of sh*t.

Always here, always ready, always perfect.

see the world through wine glasses