First April in MTL

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One year already?

From the corner of my eye, three milk crates stacked: yellow, turquoise, blue.

From hopeful to mortifying, two words.

“You deserve someone who wants to spend time with you, unwaveringly, eagerly, and without question.”

Grandparents unwell, please let me one conversation with my grandmother.

Bucha.

Oranges eaten and orange peels resting.

Summer? Remote? Mistake?

Disassembling one bike to assemble another.

Disassembling analysis.

Just allow me one person in their entirety.

“Vous avez un coeur d’or.”

Togetherness

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You are so utterly loveable.
My God, does this world gravitate towards your heart.
Tender, brimming, colour of your life,
touching my own.
How these years have wounded us,
but favoured our togetherness.
How these years have grown through us.

The Centre Does Not Hold

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Lately there has been life and collapse and incomprehension. Waking up to the white window cat, frying two eggs for lunch, walking in snow hail slush, laughing too loudly and reading the news with bewilderment. Things are happening and are moving, things are changing, the Earth is changing, people passing and people crying, test taking, metaverse expanding.

[…]

Sleep, now. If anything, sleep, for the sake of tomorrow.

Negation

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If I could say, how I feel bewildered, silently unsettled, heaviness under my eyes. Do the days simply pass like this, without slow acknowledgment, without a self anchor?

I did not expect to cry so badly along the streets of Toronto. I am glad I bit the inside of my cheek for as long as I could, and that I came home to a warm bed and two living souls. And that my friend called me, stilling my heart.

What did I leave in the city, what did I bring back here?

I am not fully weak, but I do not know what I am beyond knowing I am better than last year. Tonight, I feel disappointed, confused, steady, a bit emptier than usual. I crave the end of the semester but I feel ashamed and ungrateful in this desire.

It hurts me to negate someone I care about. It makes me feel more alone than the previous moment.

It will take time for me to regain the energy I had fed with my fluttery hope.

In light of light

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Light is not always bright, and not always light, but always by and by.

There is a luminosity that has been following me lately, that I have found myself treading through, which gives me a quiet strength that resurfaces should it disappear.

What is it? Who is it? The truth is, I think I could say, and write, and know. How I quietly take the elevator to the third floor of the library, fold my jacket over a chair, and sit to the glow of the gingko under the morning sun. How when I step outside I hear a friend calling my name and we talk briefly, smiling. How the water begins to boil, lunch is hot from the microwave, face red from the wind. How the day brings new words to light.

And at night, besides my lamp I write in my orange notebook, and occasionally in my green, then read poetry or theory or fiction or all. Here I am, this time on my laptop, now with my music paused. Who will I be, next sunrise, behind the blinds, in the dim, by the sky?