1) I'm scared of little parts of my days getting lost in memory. 5 years from now, I will not remember what I laughed at today, what I spoke to my grandfather about, or what the sky looked like. The 22nd of March. The 17th of February. The 12th of September. Completely lost in memory. And all I can do is write about it.

2) If you asked me, I'd tell you my mother's an old library book that I have read solely through fallen down pages.

3) I gathered the guts to snorkel for the first time this year. The only thing you can hear underwater is the stutter of your own breath. In. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. The sun lets itself loose on your limbs and whispers - the ocean's a secret admirer and she's been waiting for you to arrive. In. In. Out. In. Out. Out. Out. Butterflies, then fishes.

4) I still write in lists because I like my poetry broken. Independent of itself. It wears ripped jeans and hates hiding in baggy metaphors.

5) When I recite poetry, I like to pretend I'm a magician that has swallowed a cloud and is doing the mouth coil trick.

6) I don't switch on the lights in my room till it is 8PM and everything disappears. My mother's hands, on the contrary, will rush to find the switchboard at the slightest hint of a sunset. I like to watch the sun die and she likes to pretend that it's simply gone out to war.

7) I've been building fallout Shelters out of songs that have lyrics I can't understand. In this, there is no space for anything but dance. The kind that turns you into the song itself.

8) Sleeping during the day feels like betraying a lover.

9) It's 1:54 in the afternoon. I mention the time to convince myself that this moment, somewhere, has some significance. It's all I've been doing lately- trying to put meaningless things into soft words. It's a bedtime ritual. I'm betraying a lover.
Maybe I'll find a lyricless song when I wake up.
Maybe I'll listen to it while I watch the sun die.