"But if one day you do not come after breakfast, if one day I see you in some looking-glass perhaps looking after another, if the telephone buzzes and buzzes in your empty room, I shall then, after unspeakable anguish, I shall then—for there is no end to the folly of the human heart—seek another, find another, you. Meanwhile, let us abolish the ticking of time's clock with one blow. Come closer."

- Virginia Woolf, 'The Waves'

monumental.

every poem i've ever written is a memory—a translation of something beginning to slip through my fingertips. her favorite bird was a heron. he used to dream about the mountains. you told me once you'd like to take me across every beautiful bridge because you saw how much i loved them.

today is my brother's birthday. there were moments—shaved eyebrows, broken glasses—i feared the present tense wouldn't be for us. i'm so grateful i was wrong.

Thank you for your memories. They’re all I have now.

so absurdly hollow it’s almost laughable. dialogue that sounds more like a poorly written spoken word poem than anything anyone would say ever (other than maybe students at fucking Brown University, and i’m sorry, but these women would not be spouting feminist theory about power in their circumstance and with their level of education). women sure are talking but is a single one of them a real, full-rounded character? what even is there here to latch onto other than rupi kaur-isms? truly the epitome of telling instead of showing. borderline offensive how poorly this does justice to the incredibly sensitive themes and stories at hand.