Despite all my patience and understanding, I still need to realize that I’m only human. I can’t expect to be able to move mountains (though I sorely wish I could.)

I’m strong-willed and determined, but I ain’t no fucking superman.

Contrary to popular belief, an architect doesn’t only design in 3D. Such would simply be sculpture. But rather, in 4D, 3D over the progression of time as an architect must consider not only their project’s effect and experience of the users in the present, but also as such concepts and intentions would be sustained over the expected life of the structure.

To further extrapolate this concept, the structure also has social ramifications as it assimilates into the unique locality and community of its adjacencies and thus contributes to the social tapestry, eventually trickling its effect into the national community (and ultimately the global community at large).

All of this doesn’t happen within a single moment, nor even in the span of months. But years and decades as the sociopolitical and economic landscape of the built environment evolves and interacts within itself; each structure being an addition to (or even possible subtraction from) the microcosm, that would inevitably shift the global macrocosm as a whole, even if such shift is of small, statistically irrelevant magnitude.

I really should just concentrate on soaping and shampooing.

You wonder if you’re just caught up
in someone else’s wind;
if maybe he’s a butterfly,
and halfway across the world,
you feel a hurricane in your stomach
each time he beats his wings.

They say it’s all causality,
and that I was allowed to
choose to love you.

But I think it’s less determined,
a little more
chaos.

She kissed him
in the same way that she had
stayed up waiting for sunrises,
subsisting on simple joys.

In the same way she had
jumped into swimming pools
before ever checking the temperature,
she needed his kiss
to shock her whole body
into remembering
what wet felt like.

No, he wasn’t any type of special,
she hadn’t even found him
particularly lovely.

But she needed his kiss
to wake her up
in the same way
that she relied on the sun
to remind her
that she’d soon enough meet the moon.

… while you’re riding on public transit, and you see an older individual of the same sex. With a similar facial structure, height, and build. And apparently same ethnicity. They then proceed to stare you right in the eyes, and smile. Then you feel some sort of odd kinship with them.

Like some weird familiarity.

And then in your head, you’re like: “HOLY SHIT. THAT’S A FUTURE VERSION OF ME COMING BACK IN TIME TO CHECK UP ON ME.”

I hope I’m not the only one. Hahaha.

I’ve got this recurring dream. It doesn’t always end the same, but I swear it always begins this way.

I wake up in my bed and I’m eight years old. But I know I was once twenty-one. I can play the guitar as if I’ve been playing for nine years. I’m in the third grade, but I can read at college level. 

I can hum the chorus of songs that haven’t even been written yet.

And so, I wake up, knowing I can change everything.

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Over the last year and a half, I’ve regained the sense of what it was like to have a family.

I spent a time period between January 2019 - March 2020 living with my aunt, uncle, cousins, grandmother, step-grandfather, and mother under the same house. Being able to see them when I got home from work. Being bothered by them and forced to cut naps short. Returning to home cooked meals. All the troubles and blessings I had grown up with.

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I want to see you kicking up dust,
sticking back the thorns,
strolling through the forest,
running the current in the river
over to wherever it is you are.

And call your name into the air;
and hear it whistle between the trees
until something answers back:
We see you too
and we’re here.

I want you to touch the grass;
and feel the grass touch you back.
Sit cross legged, bottom legged tickled
by infinite hands: we’d lift you up
but we’re just gonna lie down instead.

And warmth of the setting sun bound itself
around your shoulders for one last time,
before it winked out
over the mountain tops;
a friend saying:
“Until the next.”

And a biting reminder
when cold sets in;
but the sudden burst of a fire
roaring itself into life
and drawing the wanderers in
promising rest
pushes back that frigid blanket.

Instead, I see you tucked into
the warmth
of friends surrounding you;
they, like curls of flames;
you, like glowing hot coals:
breathing in and out,
as bright as you can
until you’re not,
but never never never
losing the spirit to stay
burning

And make warmth.
And leave the soul covered in ash,
but still
pulsing and beating.

Oh, I’ve never seen such beauty.
Like a treasure reappeared
when it had been so at risk of loss.
I saw you glow and in me,
I’d been sparked back to life.

We’re here to burn magnificent, baby!