If your freedom imposes on mine,

I am not free.

If my freedom imposes on yours,

You are not free.

The parts through which we connect,

They are never free.

A free country is a country where these connections are free.

A free country is a country where someone’s freedom does not

Injure,

Consternate, or

Entrap others.

Death is heavy. And when death occurs unexpectedly, the weight that it carries is stronger than gravity. It pulls me down until I sink into the ground, hands pressed against my head. Life is already delicate, subject to unfortunate accidents and the biological clock. But when it is forcibly ripped away, it physically tears those who were closest, leaving shreds of unkept promises or unfulfilled dreams that haunt the mourning mortal. News plays on the same screen as fictional characters being slain; desensitization numbs our brains until we get torn apart. My desire is that these cycles of coping with survivor's guilt and fervent activism results in a world where the only deaths that take place are peaceful.

Started breathing at six am on a Tuesday.

Crawled and babbled to no one and everyone.

Newfound power of communication.

A chef using plastic ingredients with a touch of velcro.

A master lego architect laboring for hours on end.

Lost in fantastical worlds and department stores.

Battle scars from shenanigans on the playground.

Internalized love for the winter atmosphere.

In awe at the power of money.

Swore lifelong sobriety.

Everything was a secret competition.

Self-declared wallflower.

A fear of vulnerability masked by rebellion.

At the bottom of another hierarchy established by movie tropes.

Student-athlete: Science-tennis.

Denied toxicity from those I trusted.

Set bridges ablaze and carefully built new ones.

Dissolved awkwardness in a solution of proximity.

Planted confidence and predicting fruit.

Why is it that everytime

I try to say something

I can't convey it well?

The glances they share,

uncomfortable laughter

the change in topic

unanimously agreed upon

by everyone in the peanut gallery

A sight all too familiar

If only I could convey my raw feelings

Make them feel

What I do

Then they'd know

that I'm genuine

Not just a label

Not in a passing phase

Then they'd understand.

If only.

A slight sting

Full of warmth

and depth

In this bite

I found

a piece

of

home

Crescendo I’m scared of needles, always have been, always will be. The mistake here was not closing my eyes when they announced the injection. I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared. With each anticipatory moment, I imagine a needle piercing my skin, along with the pain I expect it’ll bring. With each sharp breath I take, I am injecting myself with fear and anticipation, over and over again.

Legato She’s clutching my hand, so desperately that my hand has long turned pale. But I can feel her terror and that hurts more than her intense grip. I take my other hand and stroke her clenched hand. “I’m here, let’s breathe together. It’s going to be okay, it’ll be over before you know it,” I say, as I watch the needle enter her spine. She winces and tears. I keep whispering. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” In truth, I’m terrified.

Affrettando After all the pushing, they say to stop pushing, but I can no longer feel my muscles and I’m worried that I’m somehow choking this child. I start crying. She’s beside me through it all, clasping my hand and repeatedly whispering, “It’s okay, you’re almost there.”

-Lacuna-

Adagio The lingering pain from the shot, the numbness of my hips, the tenseness of our hands--it all dissolves away when they placed this wailing baby onto my chest. “Healthy baby boy,” the doctor reports.

Affettuoso We smile at each other and cradle our child together. Blonde hair, just like mine, hazel eyes, just like hers.

Allegro Vida, we name him.