The Art Of Being Born

You're not supposed to remember being born so you can only imagine what it was like, looking at the world for the first time and just weeping at all the ugliness and all the beauty that you saw in it. And crying for the first time, that feeling in your chest and then your eyes suddenly became water and salt. Touching someone else's skin for the first time and realising that at least, you're not alone here.

I don't know if not remembering all of that is lucky or unlucky.

The Haunted Quiet

You're wrong. Happiness isn't forgetting. Happiness is finding new things to remember.

The Immortal Sadness

I know you have a great sadness. I have had a great sadness too and I want you to know: I am alive and one day, you will say this same thing to someone else.

The Uncontrollable

I have learned that your hands disappear when you are a child and the toys move on their own.

I have learned that if you are still enough birds and people trust you.

I have learned that there is a tiny keyhole in my chest and if you unlock it, words and papers and books fall out.

I have learned that there are a thousand monkeys with typewriters in my heart, and each one is madly in love with you.

The Sound Of Stars Exploding

I am asking you to listen to the promise in the static on the radio or the scratches on a record:

There is the chance for something not quite perfect to happen here tonight.

The Landscapes Of You

I fall into you.

I stand at the edge of you and fall into landscapes of you.

Let me hit the ground of you and break apart on you.

I am not pushed.

I jump.

The Inkblot Test

Tell me what you see, when I fold my heart in paper, crush it, and open the pages again.