Snow storm, outside
Snow blizzard, inside my head
“I’m still waiting for the network… Probably it’s because of the snow.”
“Well, don’t worry,” he said, looking through the window.
“So, tell me, what are you doing in this city?”

Snowflakes, unseen because they are tiny
More snowflakes

“Well, it’s working. I’m going to call this number to make sure it’s working.”
“May I save your number?”

More snowflakes

“We’re closing in two hours. Do you want some coffee? Recommendation from a local.”
“I have things to do this evening.”
“Oh, I understand.”
“But can I call you?”

The storm has stopped
Snowflakes on the sidewalks
The snowman has gone, melted by Manhattan city light,
the infinite siren, and the sigh of yellow cab drivers




Wave of Guilt

There were times when I felt like riding a powerful wave, a wave that went against the current.

But then this wave I was riding was made of guilt; both from remembering and failing to;

and along the way; it got bigger and swallowed me;

until it exploded into myriad tiny drops of loneliness;

and I exploded too

waiting for my time to return;

to become the rain against the city light.

Is it them? Is it you?

Dear Maera,

I think you should ask yourself first before saying “I miss you”. Because, you know, you change. People change. Places change, age, and grow tired even more each day.

So when you miss people, or places, you probably just miss yourself.

(Your lesser self. Your good old days. Your old playlists.)

But you probably miss them too.