When did the future switch from being a promise to a threat?

I love the way you look down when you smile, and the way dimples grace your perfect face. I love your nebula eyes and your love for the vastness of the universe.
I love how after you first wake up, your hair sticks up in awkward directions.
I love the way your eyelashes cast shadows across your cheekbones. I love the way you articulate your thoughts and how you can be effortlessly eloquent. I love your humour and how we can laugh at anything. I love your raw passion for life. I love your hands and how they are the same shape as mine. I love how our fingers stay interlocked for hours and how we walk everywhere holding hands. I love how I have to stand on my tip toes to kiss you and how you pick me up when you're excited to see me. I love your bones, the rivers and valleys and pathways of your skin. I love how we can sit around and do nothing and be completely happy. I love how you don't try to impress me, because you don't need to. I love the quietness of night with you. I love the sound of your breath, and the rhythm of your heartbeat, the most beautiful songs I have ever heard. I love how you squirm when I run my fingertips along your rocky spine. I love your laugh, and your stupid weed tshirts. I love the patchy stubble on your face, and I love the roughness of your jaw.
I love you. Every inch of you. So completely, so totally. I am so excited for the future, for our future. The adventures we will have, and the places we will go.


Leitað að frelsi, fann ég hann í þér.

Glow

I see you in the glow of every day life. In the trees, in the grass, in the sky. I am trying to show you how beautiful I think we are when I point to the clouds that hang low in the sky, and I point to them each and every day, always accompanied with an exclaim of 'look! the sky!' and I am never less stunned, and I am never less awed at the sight of beautiful rolling clouds, beautiful azure or gray or velvety blue sky. You glow, you stand out amongst a crowd and I can't help but wonder if I am dreaming. You glow indigo, violet, magenta, forest green, the sound of your breath like a hymn or a lullaby Your fingers speak of promises and adventure as they brush along my waist, my ribs, my neck, each touch charged with electricity. If I could describe the way I feel when our hands are interlocked, it would be that I am glowing. I feel light radiating off me, a sigh of happiness or a kiss is the only way to express how I feel. And I am locked in a prison of a sort, in that way. Physically. I would take apart all the little puzzle pieces of my body, just to find the little ball of light, hidden and secret from all things in our world, just to show you for a minute, a split second even, how you make me feel. Just to show you the glow, the bio-luminescence, the rainbow hues that consume all logic and rationality when you smile at me.

To observe is to learn, to reflect is to understand. But the more you know, the less you understand.
Sometimes I think the best analogy for humanity is water. Flowing, living, crystal water. Oppression stops the flow. Corruption turns the beautiful, crystal water murky like toxic rain falling on grim cities. We can so easily tumble into darkness, deep abysses of nothingness that are all-consuming. In our lives, it is so easy to fall into a pattern, a routine, with no room for abrupt change and unpredictability.
Or maybe that's just how I view things. I suppose change is the only constant thing in the universe, the only thing we can really rely on. The balance of change, destruction and creation with hands interlocked like a zipper. Water. Torturous, beautiful, lethal, chaotic, ever changing, ever moving. I am water, I am DNA strands, I am the cells,I am my history, I am the future, I am the flow of living in the moment, I am the stars and I am the Earth. All moments compiled, all things interconnected like a spider web that create me. Every little moment creating the balance, the miracle, of life.

Sleepy memories

Trying to remember my childhood is like walking through a foggy mire.Each time I think I have grasped my past, what helped create me, the fog covers my mind. It’s strange to think that this past was not long ago. To think that it was 10 years ago. That far away, ancient planet is really just a short flight away. It’s funny to think I have no proof of what did, and what did not, happen.
I guess my first real memory is this time my mum and I were walking home from a restaurant up the street. That whole block and a half was miles away for my short legs. Snow piles like skyscrapers, obscuring my vision, lined the streets. A clear night and gentle snow fall, perfect flakes falling on my pale skin. My mum was ahead of me, I was dawdling, as she’d say. I had stopped to stare at the sky. That infinite blackness like the dresses my mother would wear for Christmas. Or the bed sheets, dark and soft that held promises of story time and lullabies. The sky was clear, my breath was wraiths that danced away from me. The stars were just beginning to show their light. I thought of the rhyme that most children learn from a very young age. I picked a star, the first one that caught my eyes. I sang under my breath, to the night, to God, to anyone who would listen to a little girl in a snowsuit standing on a residential block in the middle of a vast, busy city. I sang ‘Star light, star bright; The first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might’ And with all the passion I could muster, I began to wish for a treasure chest filled with gems and gold. I wished we would find this so maybe my mother would be happy. Happiness and money were one and the same in my innocent mind.
“Have the wish I have tonight” I finished, as my mother turned around realising I was almost a half block away.
“Come on,” She calls. “It’s cold. Let’s go!”

We expect, as children, that we’ll all grow up to be astronauts or ballerinas or scientists. The reality is that most of us grow up to work in cubicles. Our dreams are too large for every day life. We learn to accept our fate- the fate that is an office and stacks upon stacks of paperwork.
Not to say that this is what we all become, no. Some of us become teachers, or lawyers, or dentists, or doctors, priests, business owners, or even drug dealers.
People ask me “Alexandra, what would you like to be when you grow up?”
I don’t know what it means. What would I like to be? I suppose I’d like to be a better person, more passionate, more understanding, more compassionate.
But they mean what career would I like. This whole modern idea of careers. The western way of living, I suppose. I ask myself ‘Could I sacrifice what I believe to by freedom in order to please those who care most for me?”

I’m a very passionate person. Passion is core to the human experience, so I would never say my passion, even sometimes my aggression, is a bad thing. My mother compared my “heart”, my passion, my intensity, to fire. She said to me “You are fire, and it is so easy for you to burn others without trying. You never meant to, you were just being full of life.”
My mother is the most beautiful woman I know. I used to sit in front of the mirror and wonder why I looked nothing like her. And how I wished I could. She has eyes like beach glass, light green and wild. Her hair is sand. I love the crows feet that form at the edges of her eyes. I love her smile, so sincere. The imperfection of her teeth. She is beautiful.
My father is a blur of salt and pepper hair and sapphire eyes. He knows me better than most people. He is small, with dark skin for a white man, and a voice that was made to read stories. His voice is a staple of my childhood. Rich, and with a slight British twinge to it. He read me every Harry Potter novel up until the 5th book and The Lord of the Rings trilogy. He cries at the end of movies and sings along to choir music when it plays on the radio.
I do not look like either of these people. I do not even think like either of these people. It’s funny to think that I’m this ball of genetics, I am half of each of them. I am part of them. I am DNA strands. I am the chemicals and neurons firing in my brain.

Louder than bombs

Turn up the sub until you drown in bass, open the blinds to let sunshine pore in through the cracks, and taste time on your tongue, tickling each tastebud and running down your throat like liquid gold

I knew this boy who wasted every moment and every second. Never stopping to embrace the universe in a caress so kind
He never stopped to watch the sun set between those skyscrapers where men in ties dream of far off lands and women draped in garlands of jasmine.
I told him that he is not this hardened personality, not this body with eyes that narrow with cynicism
He is not the wry smirk that clouds over his beautiful features
He is infinite space
And he laughs at me, eyes brighter than whole constellations
Rational thought and logic fade
Time holding his breath for this one little moment
A soap bubble in the sun, iridescent and fragile
And as a child pops the bubble with a chubby finger
So our moment ends
Honest laughter of two stupid kids in love subsides
Time resumes and we continue walking, hands entangled
Hands meant to hold
Each step closer to our dreams, our fears, our greatest desires

the universe

The smell of wet cement is beautiful. It's the reverse of sunshine on grass. The wetness, the smell rising reminds you of cool days and fresh water. A tinkling bell and cold hands. Sunshine is like fresh squeezed orange juice spilling light onto grass. It's warm, delicious,hot and almost sexual.

It's spring and the waves of the ocean are beckoning me closer. She is almost human. I imagine she is voluptuous- all curves, thick thighs and softness. But her eyes would speak of her wrath and her skin would taste of salt. Skin of sand, hair of seaweed. The water is her womb and all the creatures her children.

I smell the sunshine, I feel it's heat warming my skin, a hot kiss. I taste the rain, drops of water that bring destruction and bring life.

The skeletal trees are remembering who they are and showering us with the gift of cherry blossoms. Pink snow that dances on the breeze before tumbling and meeting the ground with a quiver.

I feel it all and I long to be part of it.