tinaheheh - Tumblr blog

[tinaheheh]

are u ever sick w longing. and i don't just mean romantic longing. i mean longing for a place you barely get to see, longing for friends you no longer have, longing for feelings you might have left behind in your childhood, longing for creativity, longing for a rich and more expansive life, longing for less inhibition. longing for more passion. longing for ur life to be so incandescent w something it thaws all the frost in ur bones. are u ever so consumed w it it rends ur heart in two. do u understand me

[tinaheheh]

Amal El-Mohtar/Max Gladstone, This Is How You Lose the Time War

[tinaheheh]

23

late march ~ early april.

now it’s spring. this time, i decided to visit when cherry blossoms were in full bloom. for the past few years, i’ve learned to love the collective nostalgia in catching the fleeting epitome of spring. they say the cherry blossoms only bloom for a short time, and then they wilt and wither. for some reason, it reminded me of our time spent.

i passed by a cake shop and i thought of you. it was your birthday a week ago, so i called you to come meet me at a cafe outside your city. it’s serene and deserted, exactly how you like it. now i spend most of my days with you, talking about everything we missed out on. yet again, a pang of nostalgia came to me in gentle waves. just like three years ago.

yet again, i find myself at a crossroads. it’s time for me to go back - where do we go from here?

now it’s spring, and we finally meet like you asked me to a few years back. i find myself walking to you, you walk to me, too. like the cliché love stories we bond over, eveything seems to be in slow motion. there you were, looking ethereal with the coat i bought you. cherry blossom petals seem to have been in awe of you, too, that they come into tears - falling, as if coming to meet you. i fight all the what if’s and muster up the courage to ask - so where do we go from here?

you smile.

let’s meet in spring.

19

here — it’s always tropical.

there, it’s the four seasons.

my curiosity asked you, “what’s your favorite season?”

you answered, “autumn”.

you asked the question back, “yours?”

i answered, “winter”.

autumn. of course.

they say the crisp fall air and changing leaves leave things to the unknown. you are a walking mystery.

they say autumn brings comfort and calm. here you are, walking with me in your sweatpants running on conversations like we’ve known each other for years. it’s only the 3rd time we met.

they say autumn makes you feel warm and safe. nothing feels more warm than having you around.

winter. for the lack of cold in the tropics.

in my daydreams, i think of white Christmas, bumping into some stranger in NYC. somehow ending up in a bookstore picking out books for each other, all wrapped up in layers and coincidentally wearing the same scarves. i met you in the summer, the forecast said it was the most humid that day. that was your last day and you were just visiting, you said.

we haven’t spoken since.

they say spring is the best season to visit a place. only brave ones braved the winter. i visited your side of the world 8 months later. i reached out to you, you came running with your hair dusted in snow. we talked for hours, we didn’t notice the clock turning past 1.

we met for the 2nd time, you said to meet you before i left.

hot cocoas are the best in winter, like the best parts of yule all poured out in a giant cup. it gives the cold a perfect balance. the cocoa stall had just opened — you said it was the best out there, by the park you frequented. it was the day before i left, the sun had just risen. we walked by your favorite spots, each one etched with your name, alll ending to a smile.

we met for the 3rd time. winter never felt so warm.

they say winter is for solitude and good-byes, ushering spring that’s to come. you took me to the airport — you insisted, it was the coldest that day. it was boarding time, so we bid our good-byes. we didn’t know who wrapped who in an embrace.

we met for the last time.

i fought the urge to turn back, until a familiar warmth had suddenly enveloped me.

“hey, let’s meet in spring,” you said.

[tinaheheh]

22

it’s been 3 years since we met.

december.

many of my memories now all come to a blur, but what remains of the vivid ones was the first time we met. your hair was blonde, you wore a red shirt and a black cap. somehow, that perfectly encaptured the epitome of you — equal parts fierce and calm, bright and mundane. since then you’ve been on my mind once in a while, visiting me in my dreams… until we met again.

you wear your hair black now, with a white shirt and a black hoodie. still with a black cap on. when we met again i remember the moment you pulled me into an embrace. it was 3 years ago, you told me to meet you in spring. it never happened.

and i stopped keeping count.

you visibly wear the years on you now than from what is etched in my memory. when we met you had that naïve, boyish smile. now, you feel a little distant- you wear your smile more confident now, as if it were an armor. but i cant seem to shrug off the glimpse of weariness in your eyes after convincing yourself to smile as if you were happy to see me.

now it’s december. this time, you visited my side of the world again. i was quite confused when my phone lit up only to see your name pop up. you still had my number, then. we met in a cafe i frequent these days. you always have your coffee iced black. i like mine with chocolate. we shared the usual how-have-you-been’s and i-missed-you’s. being with you now feels like meeting a memory. i wonder if you still have your hot cocoas in the park these days. it’s been a long while, do i still know you?

i told you about my final year in college, you told me your recent years chasing after your dreams. in the silence we shared in between, i am reminded yet again of the different worlds we live in. yet again it’s 1 in the morning, your flight was at 4. your visit was short, as it has always been with you. i told you i had plans to visit your side of the world again, you told me to call you when i went.

but why didn’t we meet in spring?

i didn’t ask.

let’s meet in spring.

19

here — it’s always tropical.

there, it’s the four seasons.

my curiosity asked you, “what’s your favorite season?”

you answered, “autumn”.

you asked the question back, “yours?”

i answered, “winter”.

autumn. of course.

they say the crisp fall air and changing leaves leave things to the unknown. you are a walking mystery.

they say autumn brings comfort and calm. here you are, walking with me in your sweatpants running on conversations like we’ve known each other for years. it’s only the 3rd time we met.

they say autumn makes you feel warm and safe. nothing feels more warm than having you around.

winter. for the lack of cold in the tropics.

in my daydreams, i think of white Christmas, bumping into some stranger in NYC. somehow ending up in a bookstore picking out books for each other, all wrapped up in layers and coincidentally wearing the same scarves. i met you in the summer, the forecast said it was the most humid that day. that was your last day and you were just visiting, you said.

we haven’t spoken since.

they say spring is the best season to visit a place. only brave ones braved the winter. i visited your side of the world 8 months later. i reached out to you, you came running with your hair dusted in snow. we talked for hours, we didn’t notice the clock turning past 1.

we met for the 2nd time, you said to meet you before i left.

hot cocoas are the best in winter, like the best parts of yule all poured out in a giant cup. it gives the cold a perfect balance. the cocoa stall had just opened — you said it was the best out there, by the park you frequented. it was the day before i left, the sun had just risen. we walked by your favorite spots, each one etched with your name, alll ending to a smile.

we met for the 3rd time. winter never felt so warm.

they say winter is for solitude and good-byes, ushering spring that’s to come. you took me to the airport — you insisted, it was the coldest that day. it was boarding time, so we bid our good-byes. we didn’t know who wrapped who in an embrace.

we met for the last time.

i fought the urge to turn back, until a familiar warmth had suddenly enveloped me.

“hey, let’s meet in spring,” you said.

[tinaheheh]

let’s meet in spring.

19

here — it’s always tropical.

there, it’s the four seasons.

my curiosity asked you, “what’s your favorite season?”

you answered, “autumn”.

you asked the question back, “yours?”

i answered, “winter”.

autumn. of course.

they say the crisp fall air and changing leaves leave things to the unknown. you are a walking mystery.

they say autumn brings comfort and calm. here you are, walking with me in your sweatpants running on conversations like we’ve known each other for years. it’s only the 3rd time we met.

they say autumn makes you feel warm and safe. nothing feels more warm than having you around.

winter. for the lack of cold in the tropics.

in my daydreams, i think of white Christmas, bumping into some stranger in NYC. somehow ending up in a bookstore picking out books for each other, all wrapped up in layers and coincidentally wearing the same scarves. i met you in the summer, the forecast said it was the most humid that day. that was your last day and you were just visiting, you said.

we haven’t spoken since.

they say spring is the best season to visit a place. only brave ones braved the winter. i visited your side of the world 8 months later. i reached out to you, you came running with your hair dusted in snow. we talked for hours, we didn’t notice the clock turning past 1.

we met for the 2nd time, you said to meet you before i left.

hot cocoas are the best in winter, like the best parts of yule all poured out in a giant cup. it gives the cold a perfect balance. the cocoa stall had just opened — you said it was the best out there, by the park you frequented. it was the day before i left, the sun had just risen. we walked by your favorite spots, each one etched with your name, alll ending to a smile.

we met for the 3rd time. winter never felt so warm.

they say winter is for solitude and good-byes, ushering spring that’s to come. you took me to the airport — you insisted, it was the coldest that day. it was boarding time, so we bid our good-byes. we didn’t know who wrapped who in an embrace.

we met for the last time.

i fought the urge to turn back, until a familiar warmth had suddenly enveloped me.

“hey, let’s meet in spring,” you said.

[tinaheheh]

Mahmoud Darwish, from "In the Presence of Absence," originally published in 2006

[tinaheheh]

{Words by Charles Bukowski/ Mary Oliver from invitation}

[tinaheheh]

sometimes missing you comes in pangs of grief.

but when these pangs of grief ache long enough to ease, it allows me solitude to have had loved and lost... and accept that in this life we are on our own trajectories.

Cathy Park Hong, from "Spring and All"

[tinaheheh]

writings i wish i wrote

For the next time you feel like you want to isolate yourself and never speak to another soul again:

Baby. You thrive off of connections. Today you spent the night drinking a little too much but you remained sober because you spoke so much to someone you met for the first time about so many things that matter to you like books and bullying and boundaries. As you kept playing with his little dull gold lighter and as he kept asking you if you were okay because you were drinking so much, you bonded with someone you didn't even know existed before. Wouldn't have even thought of. And maybe you will never see him again. And maybe this night will not matter in the bigger scheme of things. But tonight, for those 4.5 hours you sat there next to each other and without any history and without any future the two of you spoke and spoke and spoke. And the truth is, you felt it, didn't you? You felt it. That this is the reason why it is worth continuing to live. Because there will be people like this. Nights like these. And they will touch your soul. However briefly. And maybe just maybe it's because in another life, you two knew each other. Your souls know each other. And sometimes maybe this will continue, it will go beyond one night, one week, one year, one decade....one lifetime. And this is why you continue to live. Because there are still people you're yet to cross who will speak to your soul. So, go out. Be yourself. Have a good time. And remain authentic to yourself. You can do that while still maintaining boundaries. You can do that while still not letting people mess with you. You are you. You can do anything you set your mind to. So, baby, listen. Please don't give up on people just yet. Not yet. Simply elevate the kind of people you let your energy interact with. That's all.

[tinaheheh]

“A fairy land of flowers, and fruit, and sunshine, and crystal lakes, and over-arching forests,…”

— Edgar Allan Poe, from “Scenes of an Unpublished Drama,” 

[tinaheheh]

The Cotswolds | katy_campbell_house_hunter

[tinaheheh]

— Renée Vivien

In your eyes you dearly hold all of night’s allure, Oh you, Joy at the end of my solitude ! Your kisses as sweet as the sweetest fruits And your voice lulling me like a dreamy prelude Softly sung by the sea for night’s beauty in bloom.

[tinaheheh]

never forget what green onion has done for you.. for all of us

[tinaheheh]

“I keep thinking, if I don’t see him, he’ll turn into a dream, and I can’t love a dream. But I can, can’t I? I have loved a dream all this time. I have lived in a dream all this time.”

— Megan Grant, 9 January 2019 (via lettersfromadreamgirl)

[tinaheheh]

[tinaheheh]

sometimes feelings just have to stop somewhere. maybe long after the many times over, used up & worn out pictures are reminisced & finally put someplace hidden, somewhere we don’t reach for. long after the numbered stories are told over and over, when they become too familiar that even how you say it — the careful words you choose, the tones you give out to emphasize the feeling & perhaps the spring that lingers around it, the words unsaid & lost somewhere in between the pauses & hesitant silence. sometime that it becomes too monotonous, that it loses its meaning and it just turns... prosaic, like listening to a once-favorite song you grew out of. perhaps then.

[tinaheheh]

“Telling stories doesn’t solve anything, doesn’t reassemble broken lives. But perhaps it is a way of understanding the unthinkable. If a story haunts us, we keep telling it to ourselves, replaying it in silence while we shower, while we walk down streets, or in our moments of insomnia.”

— Valeria Luiselli, Tell Me How It Ends: An Essay in Forty Questions (via luthienne)