The important thing isn’t getting over it, it’s showing you’re doing better without them.

Instantaneous instant ramen in your left hand. Buttery butter chicken in your right hand. What would you choose? Instant ramen may be an addictive food, but that’s all you can say about it. Without adding multiple ingredients, it is rather bland actually. Further, the amount of sodium a pack of instant ramen contains is concerning. At approximately 1600 milligrams of sodium, that’s ⅔ of your daily amount. Furthermore, the nutritional value of instant ramen is practically zero, so you shouldn’t count on a pack of instant ramen to get your nutrients. Instant ramen is basically a brick of salt and flour that is mixed together.

On the other hand, butter chicken is an exquisite delicacy. Hailing from India, the chicken is first infused with tons of spices and flavors like lemon juice, yogurt, Kashmiri red chili, salt, garam masala, ginger, and garlic to create a symphony of taste. After the intense marination, the chicken gets cooked in a tandoor, which is a clay oven. The deep pit creates a rich, slightly smoky aroma that is tempered by the velvety curry. The curry itself is made of tomatoes, garlic, ginger and tons of spices such as cardamom, cumin, cloves, cinnamon, coriander, pepper, garam masala, and dried fenugreek leaves. Your tastebuds will be forced to sing, no, they would cry when they first come in contact. Better yet, it's great for people who workout in the gym that are trying to bulk up as it has a solid amount of protein and calories. In fact, it’s also good for people who don’t go to the gym because it also nourishes the soul. Personally, when I first tried butter chicken, I was skeptical because of the appearance. But, right when my mouth touched the sauce, I was in love with the tomato flavor. The encounter went something like this:

Me: You look very suspicious. 

Butter Chicken: Don’t worry, I have candy in my big white van that is parked in the back. Just kidding. But seriously, try me.

Me: I don’t think I talk to strangers

Butter Chicken: But, you know who I am right?

Me: Indeed I do.

Butter Chicken: So try, then decide

Me: Fine

Butter Chicken: Do I taste good?

Me: WOW! You taste godly. I’m sorry that I doubted your words.

     I am having a dream about the senior class graduating.

     It is a beautiful day

     And I am watching from a hill

     Sobbing as the hats fly off

     Now the graduates get up and cartwheel across the field,

     Away from me,

    Away,

  Away,

Away.

She has just showered, and her hair hangs limp down her back, washed of the shampoo she waited five minutes, forehead against the cool tile wall, to rinse off. The sky is ink and charcoal, but then, it has been for hours. She looks at the wide yellow dish of a moon hanging low outside her curtainless windows and wishes she could see the snow that is hidden by the night. She doesn't want to sleep, but fatigue hangs heavy in her forehead. Her small bed beckons her. 

She can no longer fall asleep to silence. She needs a podcast, a smooth voice to drown out her thoughts. Not that her thoughts are so bad; they just won't do at this hour. She wants to wake up somewhere nice. Italy. France. She wants to wake up with someone's arm around her. She also doesn't, because the idea of it seems odd. She is too much of a romantic, she thinks. She knows nothing of the world. She needs to straighten herself out.

She wonders what will gather and hum around her as she sleeps. The voice in the podcast, all the thoughts she could have but won't because sleep will have stuffed cotton into her ears. Her dreams, which she'll wake up and forget to write down, save the best ones to tell friends in the hallway. The dreams of everyone who sometimes thinks of her. 

Tomorrow, when she steps outside and sees her breath, she will wonder why the pink morning sky comes at such a price. At least, she thinks, she is not cold right now, as she lies under her blankets in a house where the heat is always on too high. Tomorrow her face will turn to frost again, until she steps into school and a friend tries to warm her hands. 

This world we carry on our backs gets heavy sometimes 

our arms ache as we stare at the path ahead, 

a path we can't see an end to

pieces fall off and we wonder if they were important

as we try our hardest to not drop what we love most,

if we even know what that is anymore

because the perfectly separated layers of the world get shaken up sometimes

like a snow globe

we get lost in the sharp pieces of something that should be whole

the edges cut our skin and blood, diluted by tears, pools at our feet

we are looking for that little bit of warmth we pray is still alive

looking for a doctor to fix what is broken

but are we even broken? 

Because this world can be hard to understand sometimes

Like, really hard

like a crystal ball we don't know how to read

we get stuck in the quicksand trying to follow a trail left by bread crumbs

then we fall, fall into something we don't know how to explain

disoriented, confused, lost

This life is hard sometimes

In my heart is a girl who

Waltzes to the beat

Of the thrum, who

Surrounds herself with millions

Of fairly lights that

Twinkle with the stars, and

Each bear a story she

Cups her palms around and

Whispers her magic upon until

It sprouts wings and

Waltzes along with her;

She beams at her own successes, but

Even more at her friends’, and

Her whole heart, the size

Of my thumbnail adorned

With chipped nail polish,

Glimmers golden as

She hugs them and promises verses

Of hand-written poetry;

How I wish I was this girl,

Spinning breathlessly across a lake

Settled into the valleys of my heart, hair

Shining in the gentle light

Of the moon; How

I wish I was this graceful and

Grateful and beautiful, and

How I wish I could fall head-first

Into this page, this

Poem;

I think this girl in my heart,

Though, is

Actually in the heart my head

Wishes I have, but

Isn’t the girl waltzing,

Spinning, dancing

Through the millions of fairy lights

She’s surrounded herself by, which

Have multiplied with every one

Of her dreams,

Still

A part of me?

I speak, you speak.

Together we share the emotions we’re feeling.

Giving and taking that wonderful thing called Empathy.

Together.

We speak our minds, cry together.

Share our fears, our thoughts, our feelings.

And we help each other.

We give a listening ear.

We talk, then we listen, each in turn.

Our friendship is full of heartfelt conversations.

Speaking together, listening together.

Giving and taking that empathy we both need.

Feeling heard.

Feeling like we matter.

That’s the true power of Empathy.

at first

you were the loud boy on the bus 

with a red lunchbox 

full of day old spaghetti in a dented thermos

and parmesan your dad brought back from italy 

you were the boy that made me laugh 

even when I didn't want to

you then became my friend

my polar opposite 

my partner in crime 

getting me in trouble 

and I didn't even mind 

we drew comics and cartoons 

with expensive pens and markers 

making characters that said 

what we were too scared to say 

and we would walk loops around my house

in the blue dark talking 

about things that made us wise beyond our years 

then one day 

behind the leaning pine tree 

in my overgrown backyard 

you told me that you liked me 

and asked if I felt the same

and suddenly I froze 

elementary mind turning to stone

running from fate I didn't understand 

it's been years since that november day 

and I like to think I've grown 

but you still make me nervous 

in a good way

whenever we're alone

there is something in your eyes 

and maybe in your smile 

that I've always liked to hide from

but I think it might be time

Misting

slowly, a dusting of pearly droplets

coats the world.

each one lands separately,

but over time, they all combine.

joining forces

melting together

to overtake the earth.

We humans-

sitting at home

bored at work 

walking in the "rain"-

we don't even notice 

their mighty effort

to band together

and make a difference

and so we sit,

oblivious to them

and oblivious to what

or who

might be oblivious to us.

Is it really?

Is writing just a waste of my time, 

and a waste of time for others to read?

Is writing this here now, 

is it really useless?

According to some people it is.

But how can they say that?

How on Earth can people say that

when writing is its very foundation?

Honestly,

I feel bad for them,

not knowing the joys

of writing a masterpiece.

And not knowing the joys

of winning a contest.

Or maybe

just the feeling of letting go 

and thinking

of nothing but your writing.

Maybe that's just me though,

and it is  really useless.

Maybe it is useless,

and it's just me

who pours their heart out 

to strangers online, 

because I know that they'll respond

kindly, and they'll be supportive.

Maybe it is useless.

And I'm just not seeing it's uselessness.

But even if it is,

I'm still going to spend all of my time

doing something useless,

because it's my favorite thing.

And I don't think that'll ever change.

Even if it is useless.