Diary entry: 4/23/17


How smooth the hand glides and guides the body’s movement as the minutes turn to hours and the heater has presented itself 3 times. Sweat beads forming on the nape of the neck as the tongue rolls over the collar bone and legs become more inviting. “It’s so hot in here” escapes and the mood softens as bodies fall together in laughter. Strong arms to carry across the kitchen floor as the thermometer is adjusted and the flickering candlelight rest easy in our eyes. There’s always been such a sweet passion whenever time has allowed itself to be in our presence. The secret life of the grown and unfaithful. Countless times have led to the finale but the finale is never as subtle, always leaves the insatiable yearning. 200 goodbyes leads to 201 hellos….


Diary entry: 5/31/17


Since nights will never be shared again, I’ll always write in the memory of your body. From the way light glimmers off your collar bone and dances along your chest to the way the erected flesh made the most beautiful melodies between softened thighs. You were my favorite. My delight. My fantasy. My muse.
And I’ll forever write to you.
For you.
Because of you.

Diary entry: 5/23/17


In the morning

I wake up wanting you. Wanting our lips to meet. Below sea level with eyes locked. On dry land where even the softest kiss makes the ground shake. Allowing hands to guide along the calming waves of desire and fingers wanting to disappear below the ocean’s surface. It’s a meeting that needs to happen. It’s a peculiar thing to just wake up wanting. Hands between thighs wanting them to be yours. Wanting to wake up next to the hardest part of you. Wanting to be taken and gripped with a handful of flesh. Wanting to be devoured. Wanting to become the ripest peach you’ve ever tasted, you’ve ever enjoyed. I want to become for you.
I wake up wanting you.
And I want you, to want me too.

“What’s next” after the storm: a brief intro on my parents


The beauty of our relationships not only lie in the mistakes we make but in the way we handle the endings/beginnings. At least, I think so. When I look at them I remember why I believe so much in love and life. When I look at them I am remembering what love looks like, what love is and who love is. What pushes me and is what pushes them farther away from each other. So many parts of us wither away from the lack of understanding, the lack of compassion, the lack of foundation. I’ll always be the first to say I really don’t know much about shit, but, I do know many are living their lives as fools because holding on is always easier than letting go. Because when we let go, then what? What happens next? Is there a next? It’s the unknown that we all struggle with, all of us. But what fun is living life as a fool when you could lie your burdens down and be free? There should never be expectations when it comes to human behavior. Never. I think when it comes to teaching acceptance as a virtue, keeping in mind that fucked up shit happens, and how you move forward is your graduating ceremony. Whenever I look at them I am reminded of my favorite sci-fi movie “what dreams may come”. The movie of a man that loses his kids one day and dies the next day, only to have his wife commit suicide. But he speaks/lives through her paintings. He goes from heaven (because suicides go to hell, according to this movie) to save her from an eternity of hell but she doesn’t recognize him. It’s not until he begins to lose his mind that she begins to remember him. But it’s too late, his risked paradise to be by her side because he believed they were soulmates. In the end, he wakes up back in paradise with her next to him, he was brave enough to risk it all because he believed in their love. Do you believe in soulmates? I never did until I began to really watch them, watch them grow, watch them create and save each other over and over again. All the ways they would risk paradise for each other, I watched them become. Their eyes would light up and I’ve watched her speak life into him so many times, in so many ways. The revival of his spirit. The beauty in her being. The beginning of their love is always worth writing about. Their ending has been their best performance. With every great story, even the greatest formation of well-rounded, thorough characters things happen. Love fades and changes and regresses and hurts and sometimes love does the unthinkable. My parents are a modern day tragedy. Soulmates. Two fools living in a world without each other. Whenever I look at them I am reminded why “what’s next” should be the core of my marriage&family practice, because, what is next now that the hurts there. “What’s next” is the pillar to healing. Do we live this life alone or, should we attempt to be brave one last time and ask each other “what’s next”?

Tiny Beautiful Things


Book recommendation: Tiny beautiful things by Cheryl Strayed.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a book open me up. I feel excited to get home, pour me a glass of wine and read this book. I’m so thankful for the recommendation; it was worth the $16 that I paid yesterday at the bookstore. There’s a giddiness sitting at the core of me and I can’t get enough of this book. That’s what good writing does to you. it opens you up. It makes you feel. Keeps the pages turning and forces the mind to start working and finding new ways to express one’s self. It’s finding a new language of love amidst beige colored pages. It is a new language every time you discover a remarkable writer, a well-defined-true-to their-craft writer. I am at work counting down the hours until I can go home and sit on the couch and read. This book is giving me something to look forward to and its teaching me. A good book leaves you walking away with new wisdom. It’s a new outlook. A new perspective on the way we view the world. Tiny beautiful things.  It’s wonderful what can be discovered in the palm of your hands, don’t you think?