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#excerpt from a book i'll never write

Three years ago today, I left your life. I went to say good bye and gave you the rosè we had talked about wanting to drink. To me, it symbolized my love for you and it was the last thing I could give you. Maybe I was hoping you’d find me at the bottom of the bottle. I flew to Mexico trying to see if the answer was with my ancestors; how to get you out of my heart. I went to a small town, in the middle of the mountains, where there was only one church and one restaurant. The restaurant consisted of three tables and one of those old TVs. There was a healer in the village. I went to see her and she took me into an adobe hut, it was like a human sized pizza oven. Inside, completely naked, she rubbed a bunch of herbs on me and proceeded to beat me with the rest of her herbs. She said she could feel a heavy dark energy coming from my chest. She could’ve been full of it, but I couldn’t have described it any better at that moment. The whole thing lasted about thirty minutes and when I crawled out from the tiny hole, smelling like a forest, my skin giving off heat like the sands in the desert, my body felt lighter. But the sinking in my chest continued. She said our hearts merged and when we separated we each took a piece of our heart. Each of us taking an uneven piece, leaving us with scattered pieces of each other inside.


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I am brimming with love - at the deepest level of myself.

To the molten hot depth of me.

But I never truly overflow; let all of my love come running forth.

I keep my gates partially closed at all times - letting some love seep forth; enough to appease the drought.

But never enough to drown.

Drown in my ocean of love.

Let my love for you take you under my waves.

Let it draw you to the bottom of its depths.

Resting there in eternal sleep.

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I marvel at the mess our life is now. We used to be perfect even when we didn’t have enough, even when we didn’t have anything. We were a family and that’s all that mattered. Now, we have pushed the pictures off the walls, we are breaking down the pillars, walking over shattered glass, bleeding and staining everything we touch. We are drifting apart all while staying together. We wish we weren’t a family, we don’t think we are. It is miserable being tied to people you don’t quite love anymore. We don’t see eye to eye anymore, we can’t talk without raising our voices, we don’t listen to our hearts trying to speak above our voices and everything we once cherished together, is now broken and empty. Our rooms are always kept shut and we reside, locked away from each other, by heart and at home. I tried, so hard. I rearranged the pictures, painted flowers over the cracking walls and pillars. I am holding onto every single one of you despite being pulled in different directions but it’s all shattering now. I wonder, if it is perhaps time, to finally let go… 

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I agree.

Something, no everything, needs to change. It has to.

But, you can’t answer hate, with hate.

The one that screams the loudest never gets heard, because they are trying to scream over the ones they are fighting.

No one listens.

No one gets heard.


That’s never easy. But, the first place, the start, would be to try to reason. To listen. To hear what someone is asking for.

To speak.

Not hate.

Hate has no answer.

It only is answered with hate.

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Chuck Akot, Eccolo
This little capriciousness in me, which thrives to unearth like a melody strummed in a guitar, and there– you open to me the doors of life: I follow you like a shadow, a shadow in the form of a woman, leaning against, but not leaving me,
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Chuck Akot, gemma di una rosa
To grow the green leaves in my hands, you are a rose, a single bud of a rose rising, I am the lips, the bulb of a poppy, a poppy that opens tenderly as a ballerina gracefully waves her hand like an arc– the shape of my heart.
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There Many Ways To Kill A Viper


In the quiet moments when silence surrounded him and only the thoughts in his head could be heard, Tyrone remembered how dying felt like. 

He remembered the pain: the sudden pressure in his guts as the hilt of the rapier plunged into his back, jerking it all the way into his spine; the sharp, throbbing pang which gnawed through his stomach, spreading, burning like a slow-killing poison; the sound of his own blood dripping on the ground, going thump thump thump again then again. 

But most of all, he remembered those violet eyes, staring at him once the pressure of the knife left his body as he collapsed to the rain-soaked ground splattered in scarlet, screeching like a rabid animal. The figure leered at him with cold detachment, not seeing him as a brother, a companion or a human but as a clump of mud on his over-shined shoes. 

Indeed at times like this, Tyrone remembered how he died, but that never truly haunted him now. It was the emotions, consuming him like a wildfire devouring all those sweet memories filled with jolly laughter, shared grins and banter which now had become ashes of the past. 

When he thought those sweet, sweet memories, only bitterness followed like an aftertaste one couldn’t wash away. He didn’t see Kalisz’s tender smile, but his smug expression as he ordered his men, ‘hold ‘im down, he shall not escape alive tonight.’ 

He didn’t see his warm gaze that once set aflame his icy heart, but his ruthless eyes as he unsheathed the rapier under the red moonlight and drove it inside him, tearing his skin from the inside. 

He didn’t see Kalisz he once upon a time deemed a friend, but a monster dressed in human skin. 

And it was at that quiet moment, as he drowned in his own pool of blood and darkness hovering at the edge of his vision, he realised the brotherhood they shared, the friendship they had—everything was a lie. He never saw him as an equal, only a stepping stone to his path of becoming a ranger. 

But why? What sin had he committed whereby he warranted death? 

He’d been a good friend, adhering to his volatile moods even when it stung him. He’d put him first in every aspect of his life, sacrificing every opportunity just to appease him. He did everything for him, even murdering his own flesh and blood… his mother, his father, his sister just to satisfy him. So why did he do this? Was it fun seeing him suffer? Did it swell up his wicked spirit? Did he receive a buzz of power when he bled on the ground, spluttering for air? 

At the end of the day, it no longer mattered—no, he no longer mattered. Now, as he received a shot of whiskey from Mister Nyx in the empty bar, he only wished for one thing and one thing alone: Kalisz’s death. 

Dying changed people and death in Tyrone’s humble opinion, had changed himself for the better. 

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Y'all are always going on about how lovely it is to be in love with the quiet nerdy academic lesbian. And how it’s soooooo much nice then dating a Xbox boy who doesn’t think you’re shit. But I have lost to a twilight book (3) three times. This is worse. This is so much worse. And to think I BROUGHT a dictionary for this enchanting queer. Rude.

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Chuck Akot, questa vibrazione
You have your feet,
walk out of despair,
pour yourself with this vibrance,
this darkened shadow,
this liquid motion of your soul,
sing, sing, sing, like a bird,
scatter like the wind,
call forth to fly,
even explode like stars in the sky.
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My brother was born on a sunny day in Autumn of 2015. A healthy baby boy that I carried in my arms and cried when he first looked at me.

“You’re going to be so loved”, I whispered as I looked into his innocent little eyes. “The world’s a scary place and there will be times when you will feel scared but I will try my best to protect you; that’s my promise to you.”

As I look at the world today I realize that I can’t truly protect him from the harsh realities of this life. But I can try to make a difference so that he and his friends don’t go through what my friends and I experience.

I look at him, with his innocent eyes full of light and wonder and I think he deserves to live in a better tomorrow.

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This morning

After a restless night

Of crying and laying there

Feeling completely pointless

This morning feels good

This morning feels fresh, feels new

This morning is a new start

And i think I’m ready for it.

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“It’s… overwhelming, to say the least, reading the old unsent letters I’d written to you, all those months ago.

The certainty with which I spoke of the future.

I’m never going see you again.

It’s going to be so awkward.

You could never like me like that.

You’re just being friendly.

And now, here I am. Sitting here, having seen you again, many times, without (much) awkwardness. You liking me like that. It doesn’t feel real.

I’d spoken of a story, once; a story that would, in all likelyhood, be absent of a happy ending. A story that I was sure would be ours.

But now the impossible has happened. And many things remain uncertain, but I might just have to stop attempting to predict the future, in favor of basking in the present. Because sometimes, the present is pretty okay.”

-excerpt from a book i will never write

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Wizards, Programmers and … Home



My usual drill on Tuesdays and Thursdays was to to sleepily attend my 10:00 AM Programming I class, then waiting out a short half-hour break on the floor opposite my Calculus III classroom, catching up on phone notifications. After an (oddly relaxing) session of hastily scribbling down complicated equations, I’d head to the library to work on assignments, nibbling at my packed lunch and humming along to a Taylor Swift album. Three hours later (yup, three—the things I do to fit in all my classes) I had my afternoon Composition II class, after which I’d sprint to the bus stand to head straight home.

It’s not that I specifically chose the loner life … but I won’t say I made a very big effort this semester either. My social anxiety has been (and still is) acting up badly. The rejections and disappointments (AKA reality checks) last semester did not help.

A few weeks just before spring break, I missed my bus and rung up my dad to ask for a lift on his way home. Too tired to drag myself to the library, I decided to pay a visit to the CS main lab, which I had avoided all semester.

My CS class is full of people that from the very beginning of term has been big on helping each other out and meeting up for study sessions (basically making a good team effort) through our GroupMe chat. My usual role in these cases is the first-responder, rescuer, notes-offerer. But this is one of the classes in which I have little background knowledge (quite unlike a bunch of my peers), and it’d—unfortunately—be a stretch to say I was staying on top of our readings and assignments from the get-go. So I was a silent member. Stealth ninja Sabiha, avoiding flunking CS and being noticed, one day at a time.

After a long detour (a given when I’m navigating), I was standing in front of a pair of double-doors with glass windows. A worn-out, yellowing piece of paper stuck on one pane announced “CS Main Lab” in block letters. Apprehension rising with every breath, I pushed my way in.


Long tables. Computers and spinning chairs. Crammed together, at once very much like the library but starkly different. More … homely. Cozy. Students everywhere, sharing snacks and laughter, a din of chatter. A couple of them threw curious glances at me as I found a computer, signed in, pulled up my project. Trying not to get distracted by thoughts of This feels like a Hogwarts common room except with programmers instead of witches and wizards, and Funny, I used to call programming some sort of black magic before I knew how it worked … I set to fiddling around with the code, tweaking this and that, watching as typed letters unraveled and re-arranged into zeros and ones, ones and zeros, tiny switches finally settling back into new positions to output little dashes onto the screen to make the pension-calculator table I was working on. Such a boring name for such an intricate process.

As I tapped away at my keyboard, as one-handed as can be (I really need to work on learning to type better), snatches of conversation from the opposite side of the table drifted over. An older (middle-aged?) man talking animatedly to a sophomore girl younger than me. They seemed to have just met at the table. Adventures going camping, drinking games gone wacky, so many things that neither she or I had ever dreamed of.

And friendships formed just by chance. A seat taken. A smile, a glance, a curious question. A memory made. Something I’ve given up on.

As I left the lab that day, hurrying to not keep my dad waiting as the sun set in gorgeous colours over my head, each footstep on the pavement felt like a step away from a place I could’ve called home. I don’t know if I’ll continue on with my CS minor. I didn’t know then that I wouldn’t even be setting foot in that place again, because with spring break would come more pressing problems.

The first stars were appearing as I got into the car. Resting my head against the windowpane, I stared at them and sent up a silent prayer. For strength.


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