you’re gone.
it was my last day.
i walked past you, and you didn’t let go—
you held on for a second
and told me i was a beautiful soul.
i was about to cross oceans,
but you measured distance in heartbeats,
not miles.
we said our goodbyes—
ephemerally.
forever.
you found yours,
and i lost mine.
because—
you didn’t find me,
but i lost you.
just try.
the urgency of these words grows.
like thermometer reaching up—
but you’re reaching for a desired temperature.
so what number are you hoping for?
just try.
there’s no more, there’s no less.
there’s no eyes flickering between doubt and stubborn hope.
just try.
my head’s getting heavier
under the mellow sound of a hand-pan.
the lows and highs—the valleys, the peaks.
back of my neck grows longer
as the voice of metal deepens.
the brush, the tap—oh, gentle, gentle tap.
the gravity is pulling down—
chin to the chest.
shoulders collapse.
fingers running,
rushing across the terracotta mirror.
the unfelt energy rises from your toes. in an instant, it gathers at the heart center.
raw. strong.
slowly overwhelming.
you choose to give it your undivided attention. there’s nowhere you’d rather be.
it travels higher—it becomes you,
you become it.
your face is no longer yours—it’s a smooth sheet of paper being crumpled into a ball.
at the peak, the stranger’s body creepily stretches into a flimsy cow pose.
praising the ether.
squinting up.
you explosively transition into a cat shooting the energy back into the limbs.
the ball of paper unravels, each corner pulled back into a smooth sheet.
the body is yours.
again.
“bless you,” I say.
the brass door handle is stone cold. it begins to melt as you grab it and squeeze it tight. as the handle turns, tiny wool threads brush your wrist to remind you they’re here to keep you warm. you open the door just enough for you to slip in and leave the crips, cold air behind.
don’t you like it though?
don’t you like when your cheeks start to loosen up? and when you shut the door and stillness soaked in warmth surrounds you?
A quiet pause to welcome the day—
You clumsily stomp between staying wrapped in the sheets or getting up, your feet gently stretching as if to test the idea of waking. Rays poke through the old stained floral curtains. You give in to the urge to feel the blood rush through your body as you rise, the deep, soft carpet tickling your soles. You walk to the window, fling the draperies wide open, and—simply—say hello to the world.
Your skin glows in the morning sun. Your eyes water. A nearly unnoticeable movement in the corners of your mouth mirrors your arms shooting up in a stretch to salute the sun.
This moment is precious.
Cherish it.
No need to rush. The world can wait.
My dad?
I hadn’t seen him, or talked to him, in a good while. In fact, I didn’t remember the last time. I knew what he looked like because sometimes I’d be flipping through family photo albums and his face would pop up here and there—and these pictures dubbed up as memories. I liked his smile but I didn’t know what it felt like when he smiled at me. I heard him laughing through the pictures, but I couldn’t work out what it sounded like. We had spent time together, and I just couldn’t, for the life of me, remember how it felt to have him close to me. Next to me. With me.
“Do you want to talk to him? He’d like to ask you about something…”
“Okay.” I took the phone and put it to my ear and waited, holding my breath.
“Say something, baby.” Mum’s encouragement was sweet. I just wished I had no eyes on me.
“Hello…?” I said, my voice shaking a little.
“Hey, buddy! So nice to hear you! How’s my little champ doing? Do you remember me? Gee, we haven’t seen each other in a while… I have been really busy, you know? I was going to phone you sooner but things kept coming up, would you believe that? But hey, we’re talking now, right!?”
“Yeah…” was all I could say.
Then there was silence. It lasted eternity. It felt longer than the 11 years I had been alive for.
“So anyway… I would like to come and see you! I’m coming down in a couple of weeks with Margo and Monica, do you remember them? I’m sure you do! They’d love to see you too! Mon is so excited to see her older brother, she doesn’t talk about anything else!”
I was just nodding along, forgetting that such gesture serves no purpose in a phone conversation.
“I thought I could come by your house and we could spend the day together. We’ll go round Auntie Jane’s, everyone’s going to be there! What do you think? Would you like that?”
I opened my mouth but the words wouldn’t come out.
I didn’t know if I’d have liked that. I didn’t know what I thought.
“You still there?” The impatient tone underlined his words.
“Yeah…okay!” I said hurriedly.
“Oh yeah? So you up for it?”
“Yeah! Bye!”
I handed the phone back to Mum and ran away to my bedroom.
Was this phone call my fault? Was I being punished for listening in?
Maybe if I hadn’t picked up the phone, he wouldn’t have asked me if I wanted to see him.
There was a comic book lying closed on my bedroom floor. I sat down to find the page I’d left off. Was it page 14? Or 22? 27? Did it matter? I opened it randomly and stared at the drawings, but I couldn’t focus. Maybe if I hadn’t listened in, it wouldn’t have been him phoning.
The cartoon paperback felt like a safe escape, but every time I opened it, fragments of this story—old and new—were echoing like my dad’s voice on the phone. Familiar, yet distant.
Should I start from the beginning?
Maybe if I hadn’t picked it up, I wouldn’t feel so uncomfortable now.
I flipped back to page one.
I wasn’t sure how this story was going to unfold. It felt recycled, like I’d been through this before. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to read it again, but a flicker of excitement pulled me forward, even as my stomach churned with dread, and I knew I’d have to.
You don’t expect it—and it makes your heart smile.
Memories flash in front of your eyes in a split second, and a current of emotion runs through your body.
The name on the screen feels like an entity from another world, yet somehow it fills you with familiarity—like a book you forgot you loved. Your breath catches for a moment as you realize: it is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.
It’s been a minute.
No calls. No messages.
Life happens, and before you know it, years have flown past. The silence settled into the corners of your memory like dust.
And yet, here it is.
A message. Simple. Unassuming.
A wholesome surprise, coated in nostalgia.
So when the phone rang on one cold December morning, I was in my bedroom. Mum answered it in the kitchen, and I casually made my way into the living room. I made sure my brother was too busy building an army of little plastic soldiers and Dad was cooking, TV on at the same time. Perfect. I sat down next to the phone and masterfully followed step two and three.
“…coming down over the holidays,” said the strangely familiar male voice on the other side of the line.
Who was this? Definitely a grown man, of which I knew a few—mostly friends of Mum’s and Dad’s. Or family. Had I seen him before? Maybe he visited us when I wasn’t home?
“Okay,” Mum stated dryly.
“Can I come and see him?”
“Sure you can!”
“I thought I could maybe take him round to Jane’s and make a day out of it, if that’s cool?”
“Well, why don’t you ask him? He’s old enough to tell you if he wants to.”
“Yeah…sure…”
There was a hesitation in his voice.
“Janny, sweetie! Come over here!”
Called Mum out loud whilst holding the phone away from her.
I froze.
This wasn’t one of those nine-times-out-of-ten conversations. They were talking about me. This man wanted to come see me, take me to Jane’s and make a day out of it. Someone’s planning on making an appearance soon and my presence is apparently required.
I’m in the spotlight and I don’t like it.
Anxious all of a sudden, I still managed step five impeccably.
“Where is he? Janny! Someone’s on the phone for you!”
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to speak to this man, but for some reason he wanted to speak to me. Why though? To say Merry Christmas? Happy New Year? My birthday was coming up soon so maybe he wanted to get in super early to wish me all the best. Maybe school? What if it was one of my friend’s dads? I had a hard time matching the voice with a face. Yet, it didn’t feel completely new.
“Where’s the boy?! He was here a second ago. JANNY!”
Mum was relentless. They usually are.
“Mum…”
“There you are! Someone is asking for you.”
It’s your dad.
Each night, as we drift off to sleep dreaming of distant galaxies, we journey through personal constellations—fragments of memories, unanswered questions, moments of joy—floating among them like stars. This voyage carries us inward, guiding us gently through our subconscious galaxies. As we sink deeper into our sheets, feeling the soft cool cotton hug our skin, the boundless depth of our thoughts, feelings, and memories begins to mirror the endless expanse of space. With each breath slowing down, we drift effortlessly through this inner cosmos.
Quiet Paragraphs 