Lovely Little Words


When you throw out the trash, you don’t go back to check on it.

So stop stalking your ex.


Lindsay Reva


The Road Home

They weren’t sure what started the fire. All that was left was a tiny mirror which no one could claim, the occupant was nothing but ashes, as was the wooden cross which had hung for thousands of years on the same burnt and fallen walls. The sisters would pray until told otherwise. Mother would decide how to handle the ceremony eventually, even if she didn’t always agree with the now deceased… A fire was always a bad sign in their eyes. It brought fear in their young hearts and represented the devil. But after every evil, came faith. So as always, they prayed.

Queen of the clouds, it was easy for her to dream. So she dreamt as if they were past lives that only now she remembered.

She had walked a thousand miles. To the Dead Sea, throughout India, in and out of borders, under bridges, wearing a smile that said, I climbed the Great Wall. She dreamt about her walks throughout life and rarely cared about the move too sudden which was bound to come and force her to slip and stumble downwards. Maybe imbalance would be her final fall. Maybe not. After all, she had a strut that could never have been called clumsy or uncertain. Life was her catwalk.

A thousand and one miles walked, men and women she went collecting. Careers were always changing. She fell in love with one man. She slept with hundreds. Eventually, she fell in love with two women. Until she realized that there were some men who could be just as soft, just as hard as her lovely Maria with the long thick auburn hair. A famous actor loved her once he found out he had finally run out of money. Too bad for him that she had a tendency to look more expensive than anyone in a room despite how empty her pockets were, like the womb of a virgin. She fell in love with a priest at a monastery that stretched over the edge of a mountain over the Baltic Sea. It was something she couldn’t have, so she wanted it even more. In return, the priest thought she was the devil, one that he would have died for despite his vows. She had three husbands, two divorced and one lost. If you had known him, the lost bit wouldn’t have surprised you. Some people could never be found, even when they sat right in front of you. She entered a covenant to be a nun when she was at her peak in beauty. Then she realized there were no mirrors that hung on the walls of their modest housing, and Mother confiscated her pocket mirror that had been a present from her older sister Talia. So she ran far away, doing everything in her power to steal back her tiny little mirror. She didn’t think God would agree that she couldn’t appreciate what He had given her. On the contrary, every day was a blessing when she rose from her bed in the morning, stretching like a cat kissed by the sun. Sometimes she was alone. Other times she was a host of other people’s feelings.

She walked a thousand and two miles, and throughout her journeys, she realized that she had a gift. To please others. Sometimes all it took was a kiss on their foreheads, maybe even on the lips. It always took her eyes of course. But that was easy for her. People had to see the fire in the depths of her eyes to feel everything. That one would never go out. She could burn with life, and the people who were surrounded with death and doubt, bores and lameness, absolutely fiend for her heated reflections of everyday toil. They needed to see her believe behind her big clear eyes.

She walked one thousand and three miles and never gave up no matter how many new demons crossed her. She made many mistakes, breaking her own heart as well as the hearts of others. They would never turn their back on her despite her flaws, she wouldn’t have had it. In Temple ruins, singing at the top of her lungs, villagers feared her. At airports, people wondered about her for being barefoot. When she was tired she slept anywhere and everywhere. After 3 am it was highly advised to stay away from her unless you were her lover. Then you couldn’t help but hold her in your arms and pretend it was you that made her warm, although she alone produced her own fuel.

She walked a thousand and four miles and the strength in her cheekbones, the beauty in the curve of her jaw seemed to continue deeper, like the forest she would be lost in, like the fires she built over and over. Even in the dirty swamps, she was fine and clean. Her skin was always clear and it matched her spirit.

She walked a thousand and five miles until a lone feather from above came floating down as she lay in a lavender field naked with her new lover. She smiled as she caught it between her fingers and used it to trail a new path from his navel to his collarbone. He felt lucky as she kissed his neck and didn’t care about where the feather had come from. She believed it could only have come from a special place, higher than he would ever conceive. Her belief was their release.

She walked a thousand and six miles and wondered if the slowness in her pace meant she was finally getting tired. Then she remembered when they took away her pocket mirror. Refusing to believe that things are as they should be, she remembered. Life was as you created it to be, and her fire continued to blaze.

She walked a thousand and seven miles in an arctic land where everyone seemed cold, untouchable. But she knew looks were always deceiving. Especially when one wasn’t ready to break the first layer of ice. Lucky for them she knew how to build a fire.

The trail she left burned in their hearts and she continued on to one thousand and eight miles until she thought she had found perfection in another human beings smiles. It was almost beautiful how they could not speak one word of the same language but instead used their bodies to exchange everything they needed to know about one another. Their last touch was the tips of their noses and forest burned in the rings of their pupils when they exchanged the very last glance.

She walked on and on, one thousand and nine miles straight into desert badlands where people told her to stay away from. She laughed at them secretly when she met the rulers and was invited to sip mint teas and offerings of dried fruit, bread and spicy sauces. A man wearing a turban came up quickly behind her and swiftly placed a jade necklace tightly around her thin and wrinkled neck. She did not turn to look into his eyes but instead took his hands and kissed them gently in the center of each palm. They felt how she could burn when she chose her path. They wanted to feel the warmth of her fire. The heat was amazing when you weren’t close enough to be hurt.

She walked one thousand and ten miles and finally burnt a city down. At least that’s how she felt when she realized that she was walking her last path. The faces of all her lover and friends swept in and out of her cataract dulled eyes and the wind carried in the many smells of lands she had conquered. Her last step led to a small crooked covenant that long ago she herself had scorned. The mother was gone but her spirit was still apparent in the new Mother predecessor. No mirrors hung on the walls as a rule. Whispers and the chirps of birds were dominant. She found peace finally, but every once in a while she slid the large wooden cross which hung above her sleeping mat and took a tiny pocket mirror hidden in the wall to see the woman who she had become. Her hair was coarse, white, and her wrinkles ran like rivers and streams all over her body. Only her eyes were untouchable. Fire rose, like buildings licked by blue flames. Her path would never again alter and she would die in the tiny room many years later. With her fuel, all it took was one spark.

Her fire would forever burn, thousands and thousands of miles later.


Lindsay Reva


A Lovers Stargaze

She loved sitting at the back of a ship.

The sun never felt too strong there and she liked it when her hairs escaped from her bun and flew in front of her vision of the deep open seas. No matter what she did to secure them, the wind would always have its way.

Sometimes she starred up into the skies and pretended the clouds were hieroglyphs that hadn’t yet been decoded. Messages, she believed were written all over the skies, but no one had the time to decipher them. She certainly didn’t either. Still, she pretended. Some clouds made her feel lonely, other made her feel light. So light she wished she were nothing but a floating speck in the center of the cloud instead of a small girl who sat on the back of a huge cruise ship.

The other cruisers wondered about her. Some of the men tried their luck to kiss her. She was too busy trying to read the clouds and wait until the rest of the passengers went to sleep. With nothing to do on the massive cruise ship, this was her favorite time of the day. Pitch black, not a soul in sight, and surrounded by the open sea. The stars dazzled her. Especially because she knew there was nothing like it back home where she would eventually have to go. Pollution and distractions of everyday life clouded the nighttime skies where she was from. Clarity was rare when your thoughts were going a thousand miles per hour but there on the boat, it was a slow tug through the parting waters. Inch by inch, wave after wave.

So every night when the last drunk man had stumbled into his bed, unlucky with ladies and equally in roulettes, she could be found in a sun chair sitting underneath a blanket of brilliant stars in the early hours of the Atlantic Ocean.

She cuddled herself with an oversized coat and tried to piece together her life with the shapes of the constellations above. An I became apparent and she thought about how selfish she was no matter how much she tried to give herself to everyone who asked. She thought she saw a faint heart and remembered that no matter how much she preached love, her own had far too many hues of black and blues. Bruised and in the shadows. A shooting star razed a path and she remembered that her path must always fade, no matter how hard she wished it to burn brighter and brighter. If only we were made to be brilliant forever, she whispered. If only she had the capacity to shine like the stars in their constellations.

The small girl inhaled the wind and waited patiently for the early birds heading to the buffet to rattle her peace, and also until the stars were taken by the devil of dawn. One by one, meaning after meaning. Mouth after mouth.

She smiled in the silence. The stars always came back to her, eventually.

To the back of the ship, I go.


Lindsay Reva

Whispers and Daggers

The water never stopped dripping, even in silence.

He was high.

He was low.

The measurements of his happiness and methodical rhythms of heart could only be measured from an outsiders perspective.

He could never understand how he felt inside. Something deep inside of his mind had been broken. He knew it, and with one sideways glance, the rest of the world knew it too.

Up and down, his emotional rollercoaster went. Round and round. Weak, strong. We are so high-low, his demons would cry. But that’s all they did. What did they mind that there was no link to connect his core values to understanding. He just was.

Broken. Perhaps even beyond.

Walking down a long dirt road he appreciated the world and looked forward to tomorrow. Sunshine and wind kept him alive and he always inhaled greedily as if it were his last breath. He grudgingly opened the front door and suddenly hated mankind. He spat in his neighbors’ yards on his morning walks. When he slept he had nightmares of having his own family. In his daydreams he watched mothers play with their children and wondered if he could have been a good father and husband. What if was his constant plague. His pockets were full of contradictions and meaningless promises. His word was worthless.

And his thoughts were even worse.

Vegans were half humans in his eyes. Wasters ought to get thrown off the highest cliff. Doctors were demons. Chinese restaurants were never to be acknowledged. Peeking at young girls who wore shorts that shown more cheek than leg was his fix for the day. He had never fallen in love. He refused to wash his hands but instead became obsessed with hand sanitizer. It took hostility from passerby’s to realize that he needed a shower. Always alone. Everyone was his enemy. His shrink was a nuisance. His Dentist was a pair of pliers. Yet he felt lucky to be alive. It made him unbelievably happy to open his eyes every morning despite the fact that his every thought was a contradiction to the one before.

God, just give me peace, he prayed.

Drop after drop.

Drip. Drip. Forever high-low, drip after drip.

Hippolytus de Marsiliis (born 1451 Bologna; date of death unknown) was a lawyer and doctor utriusque iuris (Lat. ‘doctor of either law’ — one who studied civil as well as canon law). He received his doctorate in 1480 but the date at which he became a lawyer is unknown. Throughout his life, he wrote many repetitionesand notabilia on many canons and decretals. In addition, he taught Roman law beginning in the year 1482. He is best known for documenting the Chinese water torture method, in which drops of water would consistently fall on a victim’s forehead, causing the victim to go insane. He also was the first person to document sleep deprivation as a means of torture, wherein the interrogators would repeat same questions, shaking the victim at random intervals, pricking him with a sharp pin, or forcing him to march down a hallway endlessly. If the interrogators grew weary, they would switch out with another group, who then would ask the same questions (today police use this method, but it is known as the third degree).

Sammy was a young man when he was captured by enemy soldiers who mistakenly took him for a spy. Now he was just a man ruined. Yet finally freed.

His father thought the shell of a man who had once been his son had been finished by a weak mind. His mothers’ side, he mused after he saw his son’s first breakdown after returning from the war.

It wasn’t the mothers’ side though. It was something much simpler.


The slow wet drip of water, rhythmically falling one by one like a bomb on the soft shell of a human beings fine porcelain skin. Never touching the brain, suffocating the mind entirely.

Dark times my lovelies.


Lindsay Reva

I Miss It

Have you ever been to Japan when the Cherry Blossoms are blooming? What about Bora Bora, meditating in the Blue Lagoons? Have you ever been so alone that you finally find yourself?

I have. All three, I’ve felt and seen, tasted with every single one of my senses and I must say, they are delicious. My memory still taps into when I stood beneath the Sakura tree and stared up into the sky while the white and pink silk petals settled. Around me, on me, deep inside of me they fell. Keep it coming, honey. Reminding me of how lovely things can come in all directions when you least expect it. Do you remember the absolute thrill that comes with anything of brilliance? Its effect is deafening. I was certainly sad when I stood underneath that tree. I wasn’t lost, but I certainly had no direction, very little purpose. Shell-like in all my minds finery; an ugly creature if you dug down deep. It didn’t matter that I was already as deep as you can go what mattered is that I could see the beauty in a single petal falling down. Those bedazzled kits don’t have SH$% on nature. Can you see it?

Gifts are all around us. They spring from the ground up.

Have you been to Bora Bora? If you haven’t, keep dreaming. Eventually, you’ll get there. I would swim for hours and hours until my auntie started telling people I was half human, half fish. No auntie, I am half human, half wish. Soaked in sun, bathed in salt waters. Opening your eyes underwater because you HAVE to see what the rest of the world is missing. That must be the reason why I’m so blind, all those open-eyed Blue lagoons, baby. Magically floating like a dream come true…It’s yours, and you all alone. How lucky I have been to call a blue lagoon all my own. It’s not really mine of course, but one can certainly pretend when not even a chirp of a bird can interrupt you under the surface of the water. Solitude, wash me clean. The sweetest kiss a human being can give themselves is that first dip. My heart smiles when my mind takes me back. Dimples and all. Open waters, silence, peace in the air, never-ending horizon, here I am. But if there is only one thing I recommend while you swim and sink to the bottoms surface, running your fingers over the fine white sand, it’s not to forget the most important lesson in life;

Breathe. Go up, and take one, take another. Be greedy as hell. Breathe in your happiness. I dare you.

After you take that breath with Paradise draped on everything in sight; you better not forget to REMEMBER.

One day you’ll need it.


Lindsay Reva



Hunger Pang

She whispered into the neck of a lover and remembered that he belonged to another. In the morning when she woke, she pretended she was his only lifelong hunger, instead of a love tainted pretender.
He knocked on her door and before she answered he saw the life that he wished he had and knew he would never have, the one where she was his and only his, the one where she wasn’t everyone’s but truly only his. She opened the door, but it wasn’t her, it was his lady’s real lover, the one who heard her midnight whispers and fed her fleshly pangs of hunger.
Life looked down on the people and laughed at their misgivings, cried at their love tales, sang with the wind at their hunger pains, but life always knew that control wasn’t to be had, with human hearts involved, every second was changing; some would be up, others bad, majority would be left like a masters unseen painting.
Hope walked into the room and took the owner of the first set of eyes. She walked right up to him and kissed him straight on his lips. He would never forget her, and she would enter into his mouth, flow straight to his mind, mingle with his blood, and settle somewhere deep within his heart. Hope wasn’t one to be forgotten, one reason some loved her, and others did nothing but wish they never met her.
Cruelty clutched its victim in its claws and stared it down, down, down until it sank further into the ground, hope would always try to fight back, but some hadn’t yet been kissed, then he would have his way, and even then fate wouldn’t stand a chance. Cruelty was the real reason why most people tried to forget their past.
Things happen.
Lindsay Reva

Art of a Life

Oh how much I love…
Walking down the street as if no one can see me,
Driving in my car, pretending
That nothing in the world matters
Looking out the window
Wondering when everything will be mine
But in the meantime, I sit back and enjoy the ride
Cause I love this life
Art of a Life
To some it’s all a joke, but I have felt too much pain
To let it go to waste
So I sit back and enjoy the ride
Work my hardest
Love till my heart bleeds
Open my arms until my back is cut and bruised from the bastards
But I’ll eventually relax and enjoy the ride
After the work is all done, after I’ve gone past the farthest yard
Try not to break
And in-between it all I will sit back and try to relax
Oh how much I love…
The days when I wake up feeling beautiful
When I go to sleep feeling peaceful
And in-between it all, try not to remember
Try not to trip and fall
One step at a time, one pair of lips
Plum bruised chapstick
God, how much I love
My life
Freedom, to be anywhere, everywhere, and nowhere
I wonder if they know…
How much I love them
I love them all
Every single one of you
But in the meantime, I’ll just sit back and enjoy the ride
One single heartbeat at a time
Oh if only you could feel how much I love.
Lindsay Reva

Any Other Day

In this day, just like everyday, we all should make a contribution towards mankind through our heart, our soul, spirit, and especially through our word.

There is life and goodness within our words. We have the power to make others smile by syllables. We can bring people together with the right verbs. With the perfect sentence we can make people see their worth away from the doubts and skepticism that tend to cloud our vision of reality.

Today, you could make someone else’s day, and maybe in the process the sun will begin to shine brighter for you.


Lindsay Reva

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