Sometimes, I don’t want to disappear.

I want to learn German,

to know the roots of words that once felt foreign

and make them my own.

I already read, write, and speak in four languages.

And I write with both hands,

in reverse,

in every single one of them.

I paint,

I speak the language of love,

not just in words, but in gestures,

in the way I stay, in the way I see.

I collect memories

like seashells in my pockets,

cry at sunsets that remind me

how endings can still be beautiful.

I run, not on beaches,

but through the pulse of busy streets.

I bake cakes.

I light candles and even make them.

I read and write until the world quiets.

Sometimes,

I scream until I get ice cream.

That’s how life works for me,

equal parts chaos and comfort.

All nothingness isn’t the same.

Sometimes it’s heavy.

Other times, it’s hollow.

But even when my thoughts find no home,

I build one.