Honestly, Tea is probably the greatest discovery of today... I’ve had three 16 oz cups in the past 12 hours. Well, two and a half; the last is in my hand as we speak.

Tea and music I haven't listened to in ages, I crave it=)

I love Thursdays. It’s the one-day I can relax, walk home, soak in idleness and procrastinate a little. Lazy? More like my rejuvenation, catching up on things I would normally overlook. For instance: studying for midterms, Obsv. drawings, fixing old cracks in the walls.

Hello Thursday, I’m drinking down some Teavana and Yogi tea melded into one, scratching some undone tasks off my list. And I’m reading the quote stamped on my first teabag, “Speak the truth.” Mmm, MatéVana, Rooibos, and spiced peach. Donning a white bandana and embracing a dimly lit candlelight vigil. Everything is falling into place, Red at Night is playing--Sink or Swim on shuffle, and hey. A little warmer than usual today, wasn’t it? I can honestly admit I am happy embracing the imperfections; implicit perfection always has a hidden snare trap, wedged deep within the snow or buried underneath fall leaves. I’m beginning to cleanse, body and soul, and I have never felt so…

Alive. So enlightened. Drinking the last few droplets of spiced-warmth. Tonight, not poetry or prose—just thought.

Rekindling

So I’m sitting here, listening to a bit of Mischef Brew and soaking up the cheap cup of coffee I just got from a shoddy Melrose gas station. I find myself contemplating religion, life, love, and everything in between. Here I am, scribbling on Notepad and breathing that same O2 mixture I’m always ranting about. Here I’m home, between the language I’ve grown accustomed to and the exploding mass of thought rippling through my mind.

I’m sifting through a collection of letters and word documents, gathering dust in a folder labeled ‘escape.’ Reviving the anecdotes I have carefully hidden in metaphor, encoded, all of which raise one common question. “What is love?” I’ve lingered in its smoke, watching its sinuous fibrils encircle my head like a halo. “What is love…”

So exposed, yet so veiled—so vague in definition.

Harmonics pipe in. Ah, there’s the acoustics now. Stale air, the chills. Yes, I recognize its bittersweet anthem. Sinking back into the warmth of the frigid winter, rekindling frostbitten fingertips. The norm.

"Impermanent are all created things;
Strive on with awareness."

Lately I feel the slow slip of liberation; I’m slowly rekindling the fragments, blooming beneath January snow. Patience, spring is near. Maybe I’ve been given this time to explore, to eliminate facades, shear away the blindness I had succumbed to. Contemplate unknown religious branches. Discover true peace of mind. Breathe. Steady air intake, focus—focus on the carbon dioxide leaving your lungs, the oxygen traveling past quavering lips.

Love is an unknown, I’d like to keep it that way.

Love is an unknown.