pens are no different from memories
— quite unreliable.
no different from thoughts
— they both run out.



Hadi said that the weather didn’t bother him. well, those weren’t his exact words but it was something like he had no complaints about it. “we can’t change nature,” he’d said and so we must accept that. he couldn’t understand people who complained about nature. then, i went on to profess how much i loathed winter – all the darkness and snow.

afterwards, i felt like a fool.


“so shall we just sit here then?

rolling our eyes, twisting and pursing
our lips, staring at our feet and fingernails –

not willing to speak up
yet unable to hide our desires
to scream our lungs out.

tragic. i should say. tragic.

well, i’m going home. i’ve got laundry time tonight.”