by Kei Yoshikawa
You’ve heard it many times. But how do you really say goodbye to someone you love? There seems to be more pain in admitting it’s no use holding on… but what about those romantic letters and gifts? What about the dreams you said you’d both achieve together someday, and the promise to keep trying when…
Sorry is a word that means nothing anymore, like a Frisbee being tossed around on a summer day. It’s just another word that has entered into disuse. We are living in a world where some things hold little to no value. People are outright liars. Friends are outright liars. Camaraderie is too fickle a thing…
It’s strange how you think you can capture your feelings for someone in a few words and when you go do just that, you discover that the said feeling is ever expanding, beyond your reach, like a galaxy. And every attempt at expressing it is powerless.
More often than not, people fall for the person who they say “fixed” them or the person who “put the pieces back together”. The first person who showed up to their doorstep when they were wallowing in heartache. Like all they want is to be saved. Like all they need is to be saved. I…
Dreaming of you has become my worst fear. Because I shouldn’t be. I do not wish to be with you. I do not even think of you. We had our chance, we blew it. I don’t even consider that as something real now. There were times in the past when I was concerned about you…
My mother is a falling star. Leaving all that is golden about her in her trail until she is nothing but blackness, or maybe a grey rock that crashes through my window and into my loft. Bleeding out all her glitter on the way down to rock hard ground. Going from something I always imagined…
Yesterday, I was inspired to write this. Yesterday, I had something beautiful to say. Yesterday, I waxed poetic. I was a prophetic genius. Today, I am trying to be who I was yesterday. I am holding on to some vague idea that I had for a minute or two, and I am trying to express…
Delicate pecks. Smile. Giggle. Silence, take a breath. She brushes colors across his lips. Wet and warm. Tastes like mint. Fiddle fingers across ink and paper. Thoughts are washed aside. Breaths mingled, hands encircling, fingers running down the spine. Pause he said. Shudders and quivers and chills and thrills. Look each other in the eyes….
When I was a kid I asked, “How are babies made?” My mom responded, “Go back to your room.” I asked why but all I got Was a make-face. When I was in grade school I asked, “Is there something wrong with me?” My big brother-cousin responded, “Yeah. Put powder on your face.” I asked…
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