1. The Weight of Your Memories

There’s a table in the corner of my bedroom that still carries the weight of your memories between the pages of your favourite books and cassettes. There’s a jar filled with all of your favourite cookies in the cabinet, your coffee mug still hangs there gracefully. Every once a while, I take out that blue blanket and spread it out in the sun to keep it warm, and make sure to check if there’s an extra toothbrush, an extra chair and an extra pair of woollen socks, hoping that maybe you’ll come back home someday

2. I Wish You a Kinder Sea

I hope we meet again someday, maybe when our hair is in its winter and our hands have grown more wrinkles. Maybe when we’ve had enough of all our late-night rendezvous, and we’re on a calmer sea...

I hope we meet again someday when the creases around our eyes have grown more and maybe when our bones have turned old,

We may no longer get to share a glass of scotch, but maybe we could still share our favourite blueberry ice cream. We can sit and laugh at all of these days that’ll be a distant memory someday; you’ll tell me of how I always was a free-spirit, and I’d tell you how you always felt like home...

We could sit and catch up on all the missing years; you’ll ask me what it felt like to finally write the book I always wanted to as a young girl, and maybe I’d tell you it was always still a little too empty...that the more I wrote, the lonelier I became...you’d hold my hand and tell me you were the proudest when you got to hold that book, and how you proudly told your kids that you knew of a lady who wrote of the world in verses and metaphors. I’d smile at you and notice how you still haven’t changed after all these years, except for being more wiser and happier. I would heave a sigh of relief knowing you aged well, with a lot of love and warmth around you.

Maybe we could meet again someday and share a little laugh when the tides have calmed down and it’s a lot more peaceful and quiet.

Until then, “I wish you a kinder sea.”

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3. I Wrote a Death Note For My Uncle

I wrote for a death note for my uncle,

A letter filled with spiteful words, coming from a feeling of bitterness that ran too deep within me.

I wished him death. I built coffins in my head.

But then a still voice whispered in my ears,

“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”

Slowly and steadily I put my rage down, open my eyes and look at the sun peeping through a clouded sky.

Who am I, but just another flawed human. How I dared to think my sins were less than his,

simply because mine couldn't be seen by the naked eyes of the world.

Yet here we were, both standing at the feet of love.

I don’t reckon asking him which path he chose, but I knew which one I was supposed to take from here.

2 pm in the evening I call up my father,

“Love has healed my wound,” I tell him.