ajulea

The moonlight seeped in through the window, shining bright white, like winter’s first snow flooding the room with tentative grace. Do you remember the paper crane tied with a red thread to the wind chime? It danced in sync with the whistling wi…

Ma, it rained so much today that there were tiny puddles in the street that reminded me of paper boats and you. I was five and my boat sank so you took my hands in your palms and made another one. It was very cloudy and cold but your hands…

The balloons were red- red balloons against an orange sunset rising like angels floating to high skies celebrated us more honestly than last night’s masquerade of a party had. Between pen and ink, plain paper and screens, I’ve lived…

To the stranger at the station who waited below the bronze bell, still, amidst the smell of coffee and the flow of human sea waves breaking against old, red pillars which held up a mirage of hope, this is my thank you note to you. I was a…

Wispy thoughts run in circles, like kids playing tag along dusty roads winding uphill, singing some old silly song. They stray off the trodden path like children lured by the shine of silver candy wrappers and a stranger’s golden smile. Tag…

Rose tellin waves in crystal caves of crescent bays on summer days behind the sheen of laptop screens mutely mocked plans of summer sand and foamy swirls that paused the world. The rain soaked breeze convinces me the room’s pale walls…

Worldly words rolled off your tongue like dewdrops from purple petals when the sunrise breeze, the wild child, plays tag with yawning pollen grains. The trembling hands of the clock froze. The cuckoo stopped calling mid song. The descendin…

We’d said we would meet at the bench coated with green paint in the park, count new lines on the other’s face with our masks on, six feet apart. I waited in my old red keds, torn blue jeans and a plain white tee. As dusk grew red and sunl…

Shivering sunsets scream, swallowed by the shallows of silent sanguine streams. I hear them at the stairs while counting old brown coins and a few crumpled fares every morbid Monday, watching the sky bleed red, then bruise purple and gray….

Cobwebs, on red curtains drawn on a canvas left alone in a field of weeds and grass at the end of winding paths through a dark place in mind space where the restless shadows pace, they were sticky comfort zones, sundew seats, not velvet thro…