I’ve Got a Friend

You have friends and then you have The Friend. The friend who really isn’t a friend at all. More like your left lung or your right eye. You didn’t know a friend like her existed, because certainly you hadn’t seen anything or felt anything like it before. One day she just swept into your space and you inhaled her as if she were air. A different kind of air. Like the freshest, the one you find in the worlds most specific botanical garden. A thousand and two orchids, three birds of paradise, and one yellow Rose. The exhale even makes you wonder, what the hell was I breathing in before?

With The Friend you’ve conquered cities and countries. This type of friendship could never have boundaries. You’d break bones for her, you’d give her anything that she asked. Yet she would never have gone that far. Together you dance and the world blurs behind your laughing tears. You talk about stupid men, knowing without saying a word or giving a glance that you meant, stupid men who touched our hearts. She understood when to be silent just like you understood what her silent was saying.

The Friend came to you and offered her friendship and loyalty. She smiled and looked you straight in the eyes. Instead of looking away like the others she continued to stare until she saw what was behind those lashes and lines. She didn’t blink or get scared, instead she took your hand and a message in your consciousness appeared, Dont you worry, I wouldn’t dare.

Thank God, that I’ve got A friend.

Be Love

I’m not for everyone and I never said I was. I can’t love you the way you should be loved, but I never said I could. I’ll never follow you into a pit, but what the hell made you think I would? Sure I’ll disappoint you, didn’t you think I could?

Im not an angel darling, and my fears go as deep as the ocean floors. I’m neither perfect, nor could I exchange that empty you feel for more.

I just am exactly who I am. The person who you wished loved you exactly the way you should. I am exactly who I am. Out of 5000 miles marathon, 1 mile for you, certainly I would have never ran. And why?

Because you never even took the time to ask,

When you said you weren’t capable of loving, was this a truth or a lie?



Next to trees, I don’t feel so alone.

Maybe it’s because of how much fresher the air feels in my lungs, or sweeter when I inhale and the lightness catches on my taste buds, or maybe it’s because I know that no matter how hard the sun is beating down, the trees will always have my back. The coolness underneath the palms fronds even got me asking, Mankind, where the hell was you at?

I love a jungle that reaches up and over me, surrounding the land like turbulent greenery. So very different from home, so far from my San Diego suburban city.  Yet makes me feel so at ease in the place right above my lungs, and further down in my once forgotten past life memory. When I see the roots in the ground, I remember my balance. Two feet, strong thighs, rock steady mind. When I look up into the face of a Mangrove legend whose life is much longer than mine, something inside of me knows that I must be correct and respect my elderly. They’ve run the badlands, they’ve withheld the storms. I am nothing, but I wish I could stand strong, like you, so damn cleverly. 

When I see the vines mapped out in the sky above me, I remember the veins in my blood and the strength in my bones; I remember how much life runs through me, starting from the tips of my toes. Rooted down so deep beneath the soil. Trees that surround me bring me peace of mind and when I walk down a path and feel the tips of their leaves reach out and touch me, chills trickle down my spine. I’ve felt it before; I don’t want it to stop; I know all my life I’ll feel it once more. My lush greenery, and trees above me, at least I know no matter how many people leave and haunt me, you will continue, running right beside me.


Lindsay Reva


Island in a Storm

Water shattered on the glass from 10 different directions. The wind made it seem like the sky was everywhere except up. Welcome cyclone, respect our lives. Windows had to be shut and locked. On the island, no one left their homes. In 9 months a river of children would flow from women.

In the morning she woke from the sound of the rain. Last night had been harder, but the vibrations surrounding her on all sides of the little house soothed her like a lullaby. Outside the cyclone ran it’s marathon, not caring that people had made plans at the beach, not giving a damn that today was suppose to be a special day for lovers and friend, but instead, the storm ran, faster and stronger.

After she opened her eyes and stretched her body like a cat risen from a century-old nap, she thought about calling him. When would he stop being the first thing that arose in her mind like an annoying alarm clock? When would his memories be safe and sound, on the other side of the world? When the sun stopped rising.

The book by her bed was opened and instead of listening to the words the author wrote she wondered what was going through the mind of the writer as he set down each word into the typewriter. What pushed him to find his perfect words? And how could he have settle for such a muck of verbiage? She placed the book back in its corner and looked out the window. Wet, forever dripping panes. The thought of his finger running up and down her spine flashed like lighting. The skies stayed grey, her cheeks flushed in color. She wanted to get up and stand outside underneath the rain and feel each drop rail her until she stood drenched. It reminded her of how she would run outside in a storm as a child ignoring the screams of her mother. Sunshine made her forget these moments. Rain kept her in a corner to play with her shadows. Alone. She wondered how long the storm would last. Things to be done pulled at her nightgown.

She shut the crack in the window and made her morning coffee. Always in a bowl and strong, never in a cup. Just the way he had taught her. Sip and think. That was her game. Every morning she liked to believe that it made her better, a stronger thinker, smarter than the average. Maybe one day her morning thoughts would save her. A thump from above paused her thoughts of whether or not Sugar cane made Coca Cola healthier. The Mango tree no longer surprised her when an overripe fruit would sail down like a bomb in warfare on her tin roof. Now it was just a hiccup in everyday life, even when they came in the dead of night. Numbness settled back down. One more sip and she could see the bottom of the bowl where the crumbs settled from where she had dipped her Strawberry jam and buttered toast.

One day at a time. As she washed her dishes and prepared for work she thought about how much love she had felt in a lifetime. Dishes always made her sentimental. Her grandmother had always called her The Little Measurer. Grandmother had been right. She measured everything that presented itself to her, whether it was a piece of cheese at the grocery store or words written on a piece of paper meant for her eyes only.

A kiss was never meant to be measured, only enjoyed. And if it wasn’t enjoyed, there was no other thought except to stop. Yet she never stopped, instead continued measuring. The first time he had kissed her they were standing beneath a Papaya tree. She had pointed her finger up, her mouth half open with words resting on the tip of her tongue measured for his amusement only. They stayed there, he never looked up. Instead he took that first step breaking the short space which had before been used as the shield away from others. When their lips touched, her ribs tightened. When her tongue tasted him, she knew she had found something much sweeter than a fat hanging Papaya. That first kiss lasted less than 3 seconds. That first kiss also lasted for her entire life.

She took her morning shower and washed her long black blue hair which she was known for. Even though it rained outside, the air was hot and the cool water made her relax. She could have stayed under the stream for hours if she didn’t have to think about the bill which would eventually come in response. Streams ran down her body with her hair fanning over her shoulders and back. She looked at her white feet and the black rock floor which she stood on. The vision of him washing her feet entered her mind. She measured how the first kiss had been just as powerful as the last, yet nothing alike. She had wanted to kill him for what he had taken from her when he left. But what had he taken? He hadn’t cheated. He hadn’t abused her. He hadn’t said one harsh word. Somehow that only made it worse. He had only grown apart from her. Far after she had grown to be a part of him. So what had he taken? Only half of her heart. She was still waiting for her organ transplant.

Each day she tried to build what had been taken. Each day, she noticed a little more of the paradise that went on around her. The trees, the sea, the smell of foods. Soap to feel clean, perfume to feel new. She stepped out of the shower like a nude slate and noticed the rain had stopped falling.

Opening the windows and Japanese shoji doors, sunlight entered her small home and the humidity followed. She wrapped her hair in a towel and threw on a light wrap, sitting outside on the white tile balcony steps. This was her favorite place in the whole world. Close to the ground in the safety of her home. But it was the view that made her feel like she was a million miles away from Mankind.

Before her sat the wild of the South Pacific Ocean. Trees lined the beach and beyond the white sand, she could see far off waves where the reef met deep darkness. It reminded her of the first kiss they had exchanged at night with not a light on in her little home. Only the stars were out, and still, they were untouchable. They kissed. It wasn’t like a movement but more like a message from both of their souls saying that this was a dance they had been preparing for all their lives. Each movement and caress was a secret unfolded. Each sound, a noted rhythm in a symphony. This was light, regardless of the nights’ shadows. Life was being reflected. Smooth then strong, sipped like a latte.

She blinked and it started to rain again. Harder. Flowers from the Plumeria tree fell to the ground. She loved the rain. Even if it made her remember…

The storm continued.


Lindsay Reva

#Tahiti #Paradise #randomthoughts


One day at a time,
Trying to understand what it means to be alive.
Take a dip and release your past crimes.
Who said we weren’t born to strive?
Your dreams, my dreams, all are waiting.
Even if we release one,
Ten float back in a pastel-reflected painting.
A river once-upon-a-time
Held me down deep beneath the rocks
Till a spirit entered its habitat
And on to the shores, I walked
Head high, Pearls lining an encrusted crown; fat.
Now I believe after I reached the mountain peaks and rocks
That everything is just because it is.
So I plunged back
Arms raised,
Straight into the sea.
Not the Pacific or the Red,
But that of the Free.



Lindsay Reva


Curtains Left Open

Today was different from yesterday.

I woke and noticed my room was brilliant with sunlight, white on white. Reflections of clarity bouncing off the walls. It made me feel pure and washed away my doubts on how everyone was amazed that I had chosen white sheets, why I had painted my walls bright white, why I had always slept with my curtains wide open. I was addicted to the light and how soft it made me feel in the morning. How the darkness didn’t seem so cold, and especially how white made me see that no matter how much bad burn in my blood, the white walls would always be my sanctuary. Canvas in the morning, there was no such thing that could have felt fresher than this. It made me forget my dreams that woke me in the darkness past midnight.

But I was bathed in brilliance in the early hours of the morning. Last night I had given up all my loves. I had quit my job. I had scorned the worse habits of my friends. The rest of the world hated me. The only difference now was that we were on equal playing grounds. Still, the lightness of the room drenched me. Love soak fingertips. Eyes hazed and focused on the dust motes that sailed through the light. Smooth and soft, if only I could be gentle like the dust, like a new lover’s kiss. No capability of the chaos floating through the mind. Just serene light, holding me tight.

Don’t let me go light. No matter how many people leave me, how many times mankind disappoints me, please light, shine.

Only you can purge my dark, my damndest.


Lindsay Reva

Photo by Danee Hazama Photography

Bed Time Sombers

As I lay myself to sleep, I could feel every single one of his words stroke a different part of my body. His laughter was like a kiss on my temple. The way he always tried to be right; a finger trace underneath the curve of my hip. Asking me if I was okay; a hand around my ankle. Telling me that I was better than I believed; his chin against my belly button. Rest, touch, his presence killjoy to my sweet dreams sending me back into a world of remembrance.

He made me remember more things than should have been allowed. When I closed my eyes at night, I saw other darknesses. His eyes looking into a world that I hadn’t meant for anyone except myself. His lips a finely shaped key.  A key which he used to unlock all my secrets, and no matter how hard I beat him, how hard I begged him, there he was; Keeper of the key. Unlocked, unraveled, he spun me in the rain and I felt lighting bolts strike me from every direction. I could hear every drop falling until he locked me in his arms. Still, I spun.

I tried again, to sleep. yet, right besides me his warmth lingered. It spread over my belly so I held my breath. Dry mouth, wet lashes. Then I came back down because I knew eventually it would ache. And ache it did. Softly first, to a hardness that made me want to yell his name. Not in pleasure, not in anger, just as a reassurance that the energy he left behind would hear it. An ache that made me realize that no one would hold me, and indeed I was all alone underneath my sheets.

But that’s okay. Because in my thoughts as I lay myself down to sleep, I am alone and the play-keeper is out at the moment. The Do Not Disturb sign mounted with plaster.

Sleep, I can’t wait to feel you hold me.


Lindsay Reva

morning time alarm bell
Photo by Gratisography on Pexels.com

Voice In The Valley

Last night I went to sleep feeling like love. This morning I woke up sweet, like pink cotton candy dissolving on the tongue. Then I looked up into the sky and saw the rolling clouds with the sun hidden and fighting for a chance to shine down on me. Don’t worry honey, you’ll have your chance. The wind picked up and licked the back of my neck which would have made me cold if I hadn’t been born with a heat that was meant to burn. As I walked on to my favorite cafe, I could hear the birds but I couldn’t see them. It made me wondered if I was imagining everything, which led me to the ongoing mental revolution that everything and anything was imagination in the first place. All exist, nothing existed. I walked, out of the cold into the warmth of the little shop’s doors. People sat, mingled, sipped, pretending that nothing mattered and thinking of all that mattered. And on I strode protected by my belief that today, indeed would be better than yesterday. Small black coffee, please. Sip, contemplate, try not to overthink. When I looked out the window I couldn’t help but noticed my reflection in the glass, that of a human attached to habits. Another sip, this time with a new measured tilt of the head.

I sat still shutting the world off and listening to words that echo in the canyons of my deeper thoughts. What are you waiting for? What are you capable of? Why do you listen to them, when “them” are driven by their own beliefs and selfishness? Explore, create, keep on believing your own birthright poem. Why are you straying from the person you were born to be? Create, damnit. The other believers are waiting for you. But no, keep on going on your tea-weak path. Sip your black coffee and pretend that you’re making a difference in someone’s life. Forget about your own. But when you decide to grow balls, I’ll be here. Don’t wait too long. The longer you wait, the farther down the valley I go. I’m an echo right now. Eventually, the wind you create will blur me out. You’ll try to listen harder but I’ll be all the way droned out. Bye now. Have a good day. Remember, if I die, so do you. I love you. And unlike them, I actually mean it. I will always love you. 

Sip. The coffee had a bite, with a twist of copper. I looked away from the window and finished my cup. As I walked back out onto the street I couldn’t help but notice a tiny bird that sat in a tree high above me. The bird peered at me and I smiled. Hello, little birdy. 

That was my last thought before I decided, today would be the day. The day I changed everything.

#courage #bewhoyouwereborntobe


Lindsay Reva



Things won’t always be easy…

Things are bound to be hard. Just like the definition of perfection will always lay in a haze, no matter how hard you try to focus on the picture. That’s not quite the point though. The point is that you have to continue, no matter how hard things get, to move forward.

Progression. Advance. Rise. Persistance.

Just don’t give up. Don’t throw in your towel when they’ve pushed you past your limits. Think clearly, even though they drive you to your wits.

Continue to believe in yourself. One day it’ll pay off. And if you happen to be unhappy, you have to learn to believe that one day all your efforts will be worth it.

Not all stories have a happy ending. But I’ll be damned if mine doesn’t.


Lindsay Reva

achievement action adventure backlit
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com


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