I always imagine that once I get to Paris… I’ll sit outside at a cafe in Paris and people-watch or read a book while sipping champagne or coffee with some delectable french pastry. I have these flights of fancy all the time – there’s one that takes place in Italy. I ride a bike, wearing a gorgeous summer-dress, with a flower-basket that has fresh picked wildflowers. I’m such a cliche and most of the time, I love it. I just realized that I went off on a tangent. I was going to talk about the kind of book I would be reading while sitting at a cafe. Something I never read now, but I always wanted to you know…like Fitzgerald, Joyce or Edgar Allen Poe – I always have to say his whole name, it’s a great name isn’t it? The last time I read one of these authors was in high school, it’s a depressing state of affairs when it comes to reading. I’ve read some recent stuff, books that came out in the last two decades and lots of fashion magazines, but no classics.

I can’t believe I’ve written all this right now. Usually, I have a horrible time writing. Sometimes I get struck by inspiration and I’ll write a ‘poem.’ But, in general writing hasn’t come easy in the past few years. I’m still surprised though at the amount of poetry I’ve written. I used to think it was impossible. The first poem I wrote, at least as far as I can remember, was during the senior year of high school. It was horrible. it took forever to come to me, but it was the worst thing ever. All the other students wrote such brilliant, insightful things. Which makes me realize that I’m a late bloomer. Usually people get all “angsty” during their high school year, and of course I had my moments, but I don’t remember ever dwelling so much on it. I’m much more in my head since I finished college. I haven’t accomplished most of what I thought would have by time I reached the twenty-five year mark. The last three years have been spent in an on and off depressed state, which coincides with the writing and poems. God, I always feel like this is all I talk about. But, this is pretty much all I think about…so again with the sense-making, once I’ve thought it through.

Sona
11/16/11

Sona

I feel like being a little silly right now
and I’ll laugh at myself when I say sunshine and potatoes
that was an inside joke between Jasmine and me
I’m wondering right now if ‘me’ should go before ‘Jasmine’
or if there’s supposed to be an ‘I’ instead
I don’t feel like looking it up right now, but I think I wrote it correctly
so I think I’ll just leave it
sometimes I just like to ramble
and hope someone gets the point
and sometimes they do
and sometimes so do I

Sona

it becomes easier with time
there’s only a hint of moisture
a glisten under the lashes
it might be a reflection of light

but I don’t want it to become easier
and I don’t want to be a burden anymore
or even before
but I am
so I wait and I hold it all in
until I’m all alone

Sona

We talked about cereal
and garbage
the city at night,
shopping,
people,
clothes and shoes
buildings
old buildings in Europe
and books,
the ones we’ll write
about stupid things
the future
the present and the past
and what ifs and we should have
done that
about other cities we should have gone to
should go to
could go to
can’t right now
maybe someday

and that’s where it ends and
starts
maybe someday
maybe one day
that’s what we talked about
today
yesterday
and maybe tomorrow
probably
most likely
we’ll figure it out
all of it
some of it
maybe none of it
during one of these conversations

Sona

I’ve felt this before, this feeling
this kind of emptiness
in my stomach
where you think maybe something is missing,
like a part
do they have a word for that?
that encompasses all that emptiness in your entrails
that was an alliteration
those are pretty too, aren’t they?

I’ve thought all this before, haven’t I?
and I’ve written it down too,
before
in different words
but it never seems enough
you can always find more words
more, more, more
but more words don’t fill those empty spaces
they don’t become the missing parts
of my puzzle.

-Sona

-Sona

I want to find you
and look at you in code
so only you
can read the sadness
blinked away in moments

I want to find you
and touch you in code
so only you
can touch the shreds left in tears
left by people near and far
mostly near

I want to find you
and whisper kisses in code
so only you
can feel the love
the pain
and secrets
that I can’t whisper away

I want to find you
and find you
and have you find me
and I don’t want to be lost anymore

-Sona

I was just sitting here in my bedroom, at 1:15 am, reading something – a story about two people and they had problems, but they had each other and they had a purpose…they were actually living that purpose, and they had love. And that just reminded me that I should be crying right now.

My heart sure feels heavy. And that’s funny too because isn’t it strange that feelings like being purposeless (actually being pathless is the right term in this context because I do have a goal) and loneliness, (even though you’re not really alone, or really by definition even

lonely |ˈlōnlē|
adjective ( -lier , -liest )
sad because one has no friends or company : lonely old people whose families do not care for them.
• without companions; solitary : passing long lonely hours looking onto the street.

,
but sometimes you feel like you are) can make your heart feel heavy, literally…like you need to go to the doctor. Because it can’t be normal to actually feel like you can’t breathe just because you’re sad, or lost, or feeling lonely – even though the dictionary disagrees.

-Sona