jasmine

— bloom with me, and we’ll let our roots settle next to each other.

because i didn’t spend it thinking about the past

maybe i dream about where i grew up

because that’s where nostalgia was created

i long for the past

because i lived it in the present

i’m almost twenty five

i can’t even remember half the time i’ve been alive

is this what growing up is?

just leaving things behind,

over

and

over again?

of course i see the sun in you—
you are its pulse,
pouring gold into the hollow corners of the world,
your warmth sinking deep,
staying long after the horizon swallows the light.

and of course i see oceans in you—
infinite and alive,
tides drawn to unseen moons,
your depths cradling mysteries
that shimmer like constellations beneath the surface.

you are the shore—
where the sharpness of time softens,
where waves break not to destroy,
but to reshape,
whispering their devotion with every ebb and swell,
sculpting a landscape only you could hold.

and of course i see the stars in you—
scattered brilliance, burning quietly,
threads of light stitching the vast expanse,
guiding lost wanderers home.

you are the wind—
restless and relentless,
carrying whispers of far-off places,
leaving echoes in your wake.

and of course i see the earth in you,
steady and alive,
grounded and enduring,
bearing the weight of stories untold,
each breath a quiet promise of home.

you are the soil that gives,
the mountain that stands.

life is so limited. i want to be a man, a mother, a father, a son, a childless woman. my time is so short. i want to try every food, read every book, learn every language, help every person, touch every heart. i want to be the artist and the muse. i want to be a painter, a writer, a scientist, a poet, a doctor, an astronaut.

i want to live a thousand lives so bad, i end up feeling like the one i am living right now is not enough. i could always be doing something else, something more. we’re made to enjoy the act of creation, the process of creating, but i feel guilty to enjoy what i have not created. but what is the point of art if not to be enjoyed. i am wasting time. my time is so infinitely short. maybe i am wasted potential. i can always be someone else, someone more, but then i would not be me as i am. all the time we have is now. all i am is who i am now.

i want to understand every single thing i don’t understand. i want to touch every single person’s heart. i want to be known, i want to be left alone. i want peace in my solitude. i want the world to know my name, but for only the best of reasons. i am afraid of what i don’t know. i want to know everything, but ignorance is bliss is peace. i want to be able to empathize with everyone, but i do not want to bare my soul. i want to be mysterious, i want to be known. to be loved is to be known. i don’t know who i am. i am a mirrorball. i am a mosaic of everyone i’ve loved. i am unique, i am not original. no one understands me. i want to relate to everyone.

i end up on a street where the sun shines brightly through gaps in the trees

the wind blows through my hair

i smell nothing

a sigh escapes my lips

i am a tapestry woven with threads of affection from those i’ve cherished and those who've cherished me. i bear the traits inherited from ancestors bound by love. my existence unfolds from the intricate dance of love, sorrow, memories, and disdain. i emerge from the tapestry entwined with tales of conflict, scarcity, joy, and abundance.

i am a melody composed of shared laughter and whispered confessions. each note echoes of familial bonds, connecting me to a lineage shaped by enduring love. my essence is etched with the brushstrokes of passion, pain, recollections, and the shadows of animosity.

in the grand symphony of existence, i am a product of the ebb and flow of human stories, a mosaic that mirrors the diverse hues of the human experience.

with each crimson droplet, a testament to the passion we share, painting our love story in shades of citrus and devotion

it’s not difficult to find the love that i have for you — i would peel oranges until my fingers bled

my moon

my sun

my galaxy

i hear people praying to the universe as if she wasn’t standing right in front of me.

even then, i hope that we meet again, and dance the dopamine waltz.

when i no longer have a will to live

then i’ll know,

i’m over you