Breathe

Breathe

Breathe in the spring air.

Tulips blossom and the grass glisten.

What conceals you, my love?

Is it the spring air?

Is it the ocean?

The ocean deep, my devotion deeper.

 

Speak to me. Sing to me.

The hymns of spring resonate within you.

Trees dance, trees waltz.

My love, you are missed.

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Beloved: “Bhaiya”

Beloved: “Bhaiya”

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Tears streamed down my face and a huge smile lined my beloved’s face. Three years ago, my brother threw his graduate cap and took a leap into the real world. This meant leaving me and my parents home and spending three-fourths of the year in a distant land.

As proud as I was of him, I understood the melancholy of the moment. The pride and happiness of my life was going to be travelling 14 hours away from me. I detested it. I truly did.

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These Horns Were Made for Tooting

These Horns Were Made for Tooting

So, I had a really, long tiresome day today. I came back from school at 6 p.m. and then had an extracurricular class till 7:45 p.m. And while I should be studying for the three exams that I have tomorrow, this daily prompt really intrigued me. “These Horns Were Made for Tooting – Share something you love about yourself!” I really love this metaphor. I’m sure we all have a bit of narcissism hiding in between the folds of our brains. So why not let it lose? (Only for this post though!) Also, isn’t it good to take time out of your day for self-appreciation? *insert chuckle*

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Revisiting Discarded Post-it Poetry: An Idea That Sticks

Revisiting Discarded Post-it Poetry: An Idea That Sticks

little word studio

My friend, sob, and I recently reconnected over Instagram (hey, find me @melissakandel!) and it made me want to repost this interview I did with him several months ago. I publish this not only to celebrate our Insta-friendship but also in commemoration of his most recent milestone, hitting 20k followers! Enjoy!

We met in the most unexpected way. And while I guess great love affairs do often spring from the auspiciously unusual, I’d suspect none involve quite so much dog poop as this.

In the thick of Sunset Boulevard, just a hint from The Standard hotel, there’s a little dog park chiseled into a hill, accessible by two sets of stairs guarded at their very top by a blue-painted guitar standing sentinel at the entrance. Egyptian mummies are painted all along this guitar and on a warm, early morning in June I imagined that looking at the guitar was about as creatively inspired as…

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