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nanya
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Have you noticed how ants kiss each other on their way to wherever they are busily scurrying?

Single-file, head-to-bum-to-head, one behind the other, drill sergeants' muses heading towards the nearest source of sustenance. And then one will come along in the opposite direction and kiss each one of(more)
You're going to wrinkle up in your comfy armchair in front of the telly, watching other people live their lives. You're going to  waste away in the folds of your bed, the blearing rays of what used to be cathode light seeping into your cells. Inuvia, exuvia, what does it(more)
Look at us
here, now.
Craving things we used to share,
trying to eat our way into the centre
where the past lies.
(more)
On a couch in an air-conditioned hair salon, I am listening to women gossip while they get their eyebrows dyed to match their hair.      

Their words feel as foreign to me as I feel in my seat, flipping through catalogues of girls that will some day age. There(more)
Muscle memory
finds the timbre of your voice
in blank airwaves
finds your words in the spaces between them,
(between us)
and the tips of your fingers (more)
The meeting of minds
matters
the when and where
and how long for
not as much.
(more)
Thankfulness
for each morsel of food
that made it in
today.

You have a choice (more)
Sometimes, I find myself stepping into the just-formed clouds that follow city smokers as they inhale their post-breakfast cigarettes. It is too early in the day to succumb to vices, but just for a second while I step through, I am united with all the single cigarettes I have(more)
(1)

Peacocking
wayfaring
sea-strutting.
City hairstyles are children of zeitgeists (more)
In the height of a commute, nothing is your own. Not the moving ground of the bus you stand on, not the air you breathe. You are at the mercy of everyone else around you. Who knows if the chatty old man at the bus stop will turn out(more)
It hasn't been two months since I've been here, and I've already filled up a book with stories. Cities are like that. The good, the poor, the glorious, the dour. In the humdrum of  your daily commute, you could almost forget.
(more)
These days when we speak, the goodbyes take a while. We have become accustomed to letting go of each other. This clutch and release is only temporary, you and I know. Still.

If you think about it, we are both in new lands. Both of us finding our(more)
Today
my battle is not
about wanting to be adored
but about being noticed.

I came in without a care (more)
After it falls,
slush tracks line the city
for days
and trenches of muddied melted snow
mask deep street corners.
You and I find each other (more)
My autistic, eight-year-old cousin threw a tantrum. His dad reticent to deal with anything other than work, and his mum, unable to deal with these things in general, threw their own.

She offered to distract him and his younger sister. "Should I put on the TV for you?"(more)