Regina Spektor,

The Book of Revelation is not the final chapter. The reformed bible will mention us. And we'll be the newest names.

The walks with my brother, Paul, wearing shorts and a sweatshirt, turning left when we always turn right, and sitting on a dark bench. So many bats.

"For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst? Verily, when good is hungry it seeks food even in dark caves, and when it thirsts it drinks even of dead waters."

-Khalil Gibran

You are like an alarm I keep snoozing. You come back to aggravate and to reiterate your existence.

I'm awake. Just let me sit in my sheets.

life is both intuition and equation. I want to see the equations I feel or have someone look at me and say he's reading them like watching a baby kick in an ultrasound.

díme cuando volverás, díme si me amarás

I sit watching a vibrant green grasshopper creep up a twig,
achingly slow,
its long, thin legs bending as far as they can,
and I whisper to myself
it's gonna jump
and I tremble when it does
and lands on the sunflower leaf.
I wipe my arms and legs
as if it jumped on me.

I have to preserve these feelings

Jose helping me with my Spanish homework, our legs under the tablecloth, heating from the calefacción. The dim light and sitting in it. Listening to the Beatles and him making me sing. The intro to Across the Universe, Jose messing up. Hugging him for the first and last time, telling me this wouldn't be the last time, to meet him someday in England. Eating sour gummies as tapas, drinking cocacola, playing jenga with Alicia. Coming home intoxicated with beer, and hungry, laughing and hiccuping with Maria, Maria laughing at me, sitting in the dim light, under the lamp beside her couch where she'd sit with the laptop on her lap.

When I'd learn songs on the piano and create new ones. All I remember of my senior year of high school are the nights, when I was given roses for the first time, not for a birthday or graduation, but for love. I remember sitting by dark windows and playing music, discovering a piano and playing for the first time and knowing. I remember an arm around me, a chin on my shoulder as I played Moonlight Sonata. A black cat on the stairs. I remember darkness, but falling in premature love in it.

Mosquitoes at the bend of our sticky knees. A field behind the Starbucks. Saganaki. Reading Plato's Meno and saving myself from Salvation.

Discovering folk music in Roosevelt's library, eyes stinging from dust, the library darkening, someone pulls the pull chain and there's rich light.