The Impossible Return

Finding my feet

In a land where shadows softly creep, 

Where unknown paths and secrets sleep, 

I found myself, a stranger's face, 

In this new, uncharted place.

The streets were whispers, tales untold, 

With every step, my heart grew bold. 

Though fear did knock, I stood my ground, 

In this strange place, my feet were found.

The skies were foreign, stars anew, 

Yet in their light, my courage grew. 

With every dawn, a chance to see, 

The beauty in this mystery.

Through winding roads and hidden lanes, 

I danced in sun and welcomed rains. 

For in this place, so wild and free, 

I found the strength to just be me.

The city breathed, a living art, 

Its pulse became my beating heart. 

Mountains rose like ancient kings, 

Whispering tales of timeless things.

Rivers flowed like veins of gold, 

Through valleys deep and stories old. 

The wind, a voice both soft and strong, 

Sang to me a foreign song.

In markets bright with colours rare, 

I found new dreams within the air. 

Each face, a book with pages turned, 

In every gaze, a lesson learned.

The night, a velvet cloak of stars, 

Guided me through near and far. 

In this place, both strange and grand, 

I found my feet, I made my stand.

Surviving storms with steadfast grace, 

I carved my path, I found my place. 

In every challenge, strength did grow, 

In every trial, a chance to show.

Living fully, heart and soul, 

Embracing life, becoming whole. 

With every breath, a song to sing, 

In every moment, blossoming.

Thriving in this newfound land, 

With open heart and outstretched hand. 

In this place, both wild and free, 

I found my home, I found me.

Someday will be better

One day you wake up and you live alone, even with two flatmates, and you buy your own groceries, when you can afford it, and you go to class and work and sometimes the gym. And you go to the doctor, and the dentist, and your therapist and your friend’s house, and you take the medicine that keeps you from killing yourself, and you get out in the sunshine and eat food that fills you and make barely enough money to stay alive anyway, and someday will be better, you know that, but someday isn’t today, and today your jaw is clenched and your thoughts are shrieks that hate your friends and someday will be better, but right now it’s all you can do to make ramen so you don’t have to use a knife because someday will be better and you better be around to see it, and your clenched jaw turns to gritted teeth and you can’t bring yourself to shower but damnit, you brush your teeth and think that someday will be better, and your gums bleed when you floss and you want to scream but you’ve been stopped up like a forgotten bottle of wine and you’re not sure you know how to anymore, and now you’ve been staring at your bleeding gums and the void in your gut aches and you --

collapse in bed. 

You remember how to breathe.

Your heart is here. Your lungs are here. There is quiet between your thoughts.

You are here.

And someday will be better.

Alessandro Biffignandi

The world may be in crisis, but the mulberries are ripe, and they taste just as good as ever.

The world may be in crisis, but the fireflies came out at dusk yesterday. And they will come out again tonight, and tomorrow, too.

The world may be in crisis. But today a breeze stirred my hair and cooled my face, and it eased the heat of the summer sun and I took a deep breath and I breathed.

The world may be in crisis, but a stranger smiled at me, and a dog found a good home, and a toddler told his baby sister he loved her.

The world may be in crisis, but the world still holds people who are working to heal it.

The world may be in crisis, but there is still a world. And the world contains us, the world contains love, the world contains beauty. And the mulberries are ripe.

There is still a world.

hey man I found a piece of your soul stuck in the text messages of old friends you don’t speak to anymore. do you want it back

shapelessflame on insta

Maybe we are not at any center of the universe but at the very bottom of it, looking up.

Praying for autumn, as we all do, we ask for mundane to hibernate a pounding heart at last . At last .

the way ivan aivazovsky looks at the sea…i think…i think that’s what love looks like.

Eyes are for sight and for tears, and it cries at what it sees