Lovely Little Words

Catch & Release

The order to release number 1041 finally came. When the message was received from the top ranks, officer Kanto couldn’t believe it. 1041 had been one of the good ones in a place where everyone was bad. He trusted none of them however because he saw like he could see the sun shining in the sky that when you dig deep enough, bad was waiting for the opportunity to show itself. That’s why these scums deserved everything they got. But Kanto had spent many times examining 1041. Something was different. He had never snapped, not even risked talking back. Even when the Chief Commander had kicked 1041 in the ribs for slipping in the shower, he hadn’t cried out like some of the cowards would have done. He simply picked himself up and stared at the commander’s shoes. Kanto could hear a thousand accusations in the silence. Somehow they weren’t pointing at 1041 but instead, the Commander.

Please God, help me forget how cold this world is. He missed the sun like he missed his mother. He missed homecooked meals that his wife use to cook after long hard days in the office. He missed hearing a good song on the radio. He missed feeling like he was alive. He missed and then there was nothing. Meanings had all changed the first day he walked into prison. 30 years was the number tattooed on the back of his brain, the remainder of a sentence given in exchange for one second of a mistake. He didn’t regret anything though. He was too far deep in his misery to regret. All he could do was accept and walk the tightrope of choosing life over death.

Kanto walked to the cell which was the cleanest in the prison. Probably even cleaner than the officers quarters, which didn’t say much since it was cleaned by the prisoners themselves. As he went he passed the bottom floor which was full of lifers and those on Suicide Watch. Some type of shadiness was always happening with these folks. Throwing shit on walls. Skin and bones refusing to eat. Animal noises all throughout the day and night. This was the floor that made the ranks grow cold in their hearts. Years on the first floor would change a man straight into a maneater. He thanked his ancestors for the luck of being a floater instead of a babysitter for these crazy crooks. Kantos mind wandered to the many times when they opened a cell door to a dead body suffocated with clothes, bedsheets, or smuggled plastic. Sometimes he wondered if his brother officers had any influence on how that plastic made its way inside those cells. But that was just one of the unspeakable topics, and there were many… He reached the 3rd floor and went to the room of 1041.

Sometimes 1041 couldn’t remember what it was like to be free. The other day an officer had asked him if he had a wife waiting for him. Wife. Did I have a wife? He said yes, but with all the mental effort going on he could not remember what her face looked like. Neither the smell of her hair or if she had been soft to hold or an absolute bitch. Yes, sir. I have a wife. She’s waiting for me and she’s beautiful. 1041 carried on doing all his choirs and duties all the while putting together the image of a woman who might or might not be his wife. When he was stressed or sad he liked to clean. He wasn’t supposed to be cleaning all day, but the guards were tired of beating him for something they couldn’t quite justify. So instead they let him clean and only gave him a few licks when the higherups were in site. Although he cleaned like his life depended on it, he always felt dirty. He could feel the stink and decay deep in his bones, surrounding him on every single surface.

Kanto looked into the cell of 1041. Spotless with not a cup or plate out of place. The bed could have been a perfect example for any military barrack. The floors actually shined as if he had used a cleaning product instead of a simple rag and water. Sadness overwhelmed him and for the first time in his career, he wondered if he had lived his entire life wrong. He thought of the thousands of times he had made this trip to an inmate who was about to be released. Sometimes he felt disgusted because some of these animals didn’t deserve to be pardoned. They’d be back in a heartbeat once they got caught stealing food to survive or cash to get high. Other times he actually felt happy. Last week he had given the good news to a young kid who was in for Grand Theft Auto. He wasn’t a bad kid. Misled, but he had the potential to go out and start a new life for himself. It was really unfortunate when less than a week later that same young man’s body was found in the Shinano River. He had hoped things would be different, but no matter how much you hope, fate happens.

Nowadays he couldn’t remember much. The only thing he knew was that he was a dirty person in a dirty place. He was 1041 and he had to clean. Sometimes things would flash in his head. I remembered. He remembered things that could have been from books he had read or it could have been his life. Beautiful things that made him cry and hope that he had been so lucky to have a family and times which would always be greater than his hardships. These remembrances were random but when they hit, they hit harder than any storm mother nature could throw at him. When they hit, he lost it. My lady. How lovely she was with her dark brown hair and light almond eyes. She used to sing while she took a shower and we use to walk our kids to the park every Friday. But they stopped coming and then the letter came. Dear Frank, I’m sorry but we’re starting our life over. We love you but you should also do the same. No. When I remember how she use to touch me and how my kids use to smile, how the hell was I suppose to start over? No. No. No. But I’ll forget about them tomorrow. Then they’ll come back and haunt me. I’ll rot here from the inside out, and always they will haunt me. 1041 thought about whether life was really worth it. He remembered that he had many, many years to go and the number 30 burned like blue fire on his brain. I won’t let these bastards have me. They might think I belong to them but I am free. Free in my mind. I am not an animal. I would rather kill myself than let them kill me. It was a very bad day when he remembered his name because he remembered everything else. He also remembered that eventually, he would forget. And the day before the commander released his number to the officer Kanto with orders to be brought back to his country and freed, he realized that he was done walking the tightrope. 1041 was no coward. He was no sheep. When he remembered, he also remembered that he was a man who lived above the influence of others with core values that could be traced back deep in the roots of his family tree. I’m a good man. I’ll die the best man I can be. 1041 stopped cleaning.

Kanto looked at the floor and stared at the pale face of 1041 who was looking straight ahead. He wondered how long he had been dead and what kind of reaction 1041 would have had if only he had been alive to receive the news that today he had been giving a special release because evidence had been found which had brought light to the real killer. A man who was already on level 1. He was sad and after 45 years of working for the prison, he decided that today he would put in his resignation and live a life that had more meaning than seeing dead bodies pile up in prison cells.

1041 was named Frank Tam. His last thought was the skin of his wife and how he loved when she kissed him on his neck. Before that, he thought of sunshine and the smell of the sea.


Lindsay Reva

hallway with window
Photo by Jimmy Chan on


My Don

Before her mind wondered off into sleep, he came into her thoughts…

He looks at me when I’m trying to hide behind my hair and I know no matter how long it grows, his sight will always see farther. When he wakes in the morning his arms automatically reach for me like my body is his alarm clock. That first touch, his first prayer. That first kiss, the first sunray. When I drive us in the night with the city lights bright and the moon big, he’s sitting beside me studying my silhouette as if I  was a star in a constellation. I can feel his satisfaction in the darkness. The curve in his ears, the shape of his neck. Not an inch too small, neither too big. You heard me, I said, perfect. No push and shove. How does he know exactly when I want my hand to be held? Suffication isn’t his specialty. He is my love, and still, my love has given me freedom. Side by side our bodies fit. Just right. Not like a puzzle, but like a pretzel. One into the other. Do people see the symmetry when we’re walking down the street? I can feel it in my heart, regardless. The reflection of my laugh can be seen in the apple of his eyes. I’d rather look at those than 42 rainbows dancing in the sky. Fruition, shine, mine mine mine. In his presence, I’m home. Safety is resting my head on his shoulder. Luckily, I snapped the wishbone. How lonely “Hello” sounds when he misses me. How much I can tell he cares when he speaks with his soft voice. Strong grip, sweet kiss. One look and I can tell, he loves me. How much I’d do to keep it that way. How far he goes just to make me smile. How much I smile just so he knows. He’s doing things. Things that excite me.

Yvonne lay in her bed and tried to imagine a lover that would be good for her. She saw the silhouette of a man next to her thanks to the imagination. He wasn’t real. But he’s real enough, she pondered. Which only made her sad. He smelt like a charm and dashed words at her ego full of promise, poetry and especially big worded bullshit. He would patch together the ravished heart that had been stepped on, pulled and tugged at from all sides by all types of maniacs. He was real, maybe not in real life. But as she finally fell into the dreamland of Sleep, REM reached and prayer done, she started to imagine the one person who was out there waiting for her, like she was waiting for him.

One day…was the last conscious thought before her fantasy and dreams took over.


Lindsay Reva


Photo Cred: Ivan S Harris



Hi Beauty,

She hated when he commented on her looks, only because it made her feel different when she looked in the mirror. The first time they had lunch together he had walked her to her car to say goodbye. As she turned to open the door he spoke one word barely louder than a whisper. Beautiful. She didn’t dare stop in her movement but instead pulled the handle quickly, push start and drove away. Not even a single parting glance. But as she reached the 5N freeway she paid attention to the feelings swimming in her stomach and dangerously pulled down the mirror to get a quick glance of the face which she had looked at her entire life. Driving in bumper-to-bumper traffic she realized for the first time, indeed, she was beautiful.

The second time, he came so close that she wanted to stop breathing. Instead, she took one deep breath hoping to inhale his scent and keep it in her memory forever. Leaning in, he brought the tip of his nose to her temple and again, that one word slipped out of his mouth. Beautiful. As she heard each syllable she closed her eyes and wondered why no one else thought so.

Each time was a new time. Each time he says the word, she smiles. Each time she wanted nothing more than to believe. Her transformation truly was beautiful.

Why hadn’t the other men ever told her she was beautiful? What about her parents and family? Why didn’t they see what her lover saw? She was everything and more, even if it had taken a lifetime to learn it.

That was just how she felt. Before he started beating her. Before the other women started calling him late in the night and he whispered into the phone, Hey, Beauty. 

She was beautiful. The blackeyes would never take that away from her.


Lindsay Reva

lindsay (193)



Go Flex

Ever had a day where you just didn’t give a damn?

I looked in the mirror and felt it coming. Looked out the window and even though the sun was shining stronger than hades fire, I felt cold inside. People always ask me if I’m trying to die of heatstroke. Yeah, I’m the weirdo who wears turtle necks in summer, who wears a ball gown in the desert, who looks like an Eskimo in winter. I live in San Diego for chrissake. I get it. Still, I don’t give a damn. I like hiding my skin because I’ve gotten used to how the hardships of my life have kept me pale( yes, that’s my own inside joke that you almost certainly wont understand). I like being hot because I know what it’s like to be cold. The cold makes everyone harder. Warmth is happiness in my bubble. Don’t even think about poppin’ it. In death, I will leap into the fire instead of placing one baby toe into frostbite.

Cold to the bones. Have you ever felt so alone that you no longer want to feel the touch of another human being? Most people haven’t. I have. That doesn’t make me special. Regardless; I am special. I put that on my mommy.

I try to keep it classy. Every day is walking down the Victoria Secret runway. Grocery Outlet ain’t got nothin’ on this. My Angel wings are rose gold, and my nails are dipped is crystals. Except when I see chocolate chip cookies. Then I lose my shit and go into destroy mode. Little red darts shoot out of my eyes. Have you ever been hungry? Sometimes I see pictures of little kids who go beyond malnourished. They look like little fragile birds, but they make me think of very, very old people. Can you come back from that aging especially when you’ve aged a thousand years and haven’t even reached a quarter of a lifetime? But I wonder, do they feel hungry? Or is it just how they feel… Sometimes I’m hungry. But not little bird or old women hungry. There is no emptiness in my tummy. Only in the heart. As long as my hunger doesn’t reach the brain, I’m fine. But I’m lucky. I’ve had more full than hungry and I’m not ashamed to say it.

I’ve had more bliss than blizzards and when I see the rainbow in the sky. The arch reminds me that I better take advantage while my rays shoot up. Eventually, They’ll shoot right back down buddy. Will you be ready? Or does the thought make you get a nosebleed?

I’m talking Sh*% to the ones that will listen. I come with the Heat. I’m still the same and I ain’t switchin’.


📸 @ivansharrisphotography

How Did Gauguin Do It? 

She woke in the night and sensed her unhappiness standing in the corner of the room like an intruder watching in the dark. She wanted to say something brave to make it go away, but instead, lay completely still with heavy limbs.  Her discontent washed over her body like a wave washes over a lone rock in the middle of the ocean. Her misfortunes mocked her, telling her that everything she had gotten had been well overdue and deserved.  The body laying next to her made things even worse. When had they stopped loving each other? Or had they ever started… Suddenly a wish of being in bed alone made her feel the urge to get up, take her keys to the ignition, turn, and drive. Never comin’ back bitches. She was done. But she blinked in her bed and hugged the blankets hoping they kept her secrets safe from the rest of the world.

When did this happen? She wondered… The first child? Na, maybe the first slice of wedding cake when the love of her life had made a joke with the best man which was inappropriate just like the rest of his jokes and she found herself thinking for the first time as he brought a spoonful of wedding cake to her lips, I am swallowing the rest of my life. FuckThings weren’t so bad afterward. Kids came along and really made her work. Grey hairs increase as did her salon treatments. He found new hobbies to keep him the hell out of her hair. She praised the Gods for Golf and work conferences. From a distance she was happy. Under a microscope, she could have a made an onion cry.

But she had her own hobbies. Not like his. Her hobby was her imagination.

Walking away with one suitcase and not even a kiss goodbye. She had read about people who had beautiful lives and disappeared out of nowhere. It was hard for her to believe that these average Joes and Sheilas were kidnapped or killed and left in a ditch. But no body was ever found… No way. Those people weren’t dead, they were the brave ones who walked away. She could imagine thousands of the lost ones roaming the beaches of Bali, running their fingertip across the Colosseum, living lives that they had first dreamt and then followed.

How did these dreams even come to us?

Tahiti. It sounded so elegant and exotic when she let it roll off her tongue. That was always the destination in her fantasies. No one would find me there. She tried to calculate how long it would take her until she got bored. One year? Maybe two… She would be tan and feel free in her skin. Shed the pounds of childbirth. Beautiful with the sea wind in her hair, sunshine holding her tighter than a husband ever could. Every morning she would dip into the blue lagoons and flirt with the locals until one of them gave in. No more housewife ash and frizz. Her children had stolen her shine. Her husband had taken away the only fire that had once attracted him. Not anymore, suckers. Tahiti would make her beautiful again. Goodbye older, saner, plainer self. She envisioned the sun on a bright red horizon burning her soul like embers in the fire.

How did Gauguin do it? 

She blinked again in the night, remembering that she had to wake up early to iron her husband’s shirt, feed the kids, feed the pets, feed herself, and feed her brain bullshit that tomorrow she was going to get on the flight to the South Pacific Islands and disappear to join the brave ones.


Lindsay Reva


Hopeful Romantic

He made me remember how to love. That’s why I could never betray or hate him. They say never bite the hand who feeds you. And what about the hand who feeds your soul? I know sometimes it ain’t right. He had his secret and I had my secrets. Lots of secrets, which I think made us love even harder in the minutes of midnight. But damn I didn’t know that someone could hold them so heavy and deep, till when they came out, ties undone and you’re looking at that person like… who the hell are you? I’ve had that moment with him. Many times. But like I said. He taught me how to love again. I didn’t want him to come into my life. No one ever invites a storm, no one ever anticipates a car crash. Everyone feels it afterward only. At least those who survive.

He was so damn lovely the first time he came into my view. I remember thinking to myself, finally, the rumors were true. You could find someone and agree with every inch of skin, every strand of hair, every flick of the wrist which belonged to another human being. My fucking prototype. Welcome home, it felt like when he started to speak. Although that’s not what he said at all. What’s your name? I felt like he was messing with me. My name? It’s me dummy, the person who you’ve been waiting for all your life. Corny, I know. What do you expect? I follow in the footsteps on Juliet.

But we were strangers stranded on a deserted Dream with plush pink walls, sand beneath our feet, and cherry blossoms falling from the sky. No, not even that. Here we were just perfect strangers in a hallway and I had fallen for him before he even spat the word, Hello.

Hell, he had me at blink.


Lindsay Reva

monochrome photo of man wearing nose ring
Photo by Vitória Santos on

Forever Elevator

He walked out into the morning sunlight and wondered what it would be like if one day someone took the sunlight away. The warmth on his face made his skin tingle and he closed his eyes so that he could appreciate the moment more. When he finished imagining himself in a cold dark room, locked up with a cellmate named death, he opened his eyes and smiled at what just being alive and free had given him.

She stepped out of her car into the pouring rain. Instead of running into the house like a normal human being, she raised her chin till she was face to face with charcoal rimmed clouds and an onslaught of falling raindrops. Eyes closed, she liked the way each drop hit her eyelids like a little fairy’s kiss. Over and over, smothering and sweet. Thank you, God, she whispered to the sky thinking about how lucky she was not to be 6 feet under, not to be one of the others who lived life without living at all. The zombies. Her palms opened up and her arms raised higher and higher. A neighbor peeked out the window and wondered if he was seeing an angel about to fly into what seemed like a neverending storm. He shut the blinds and blinked away his belief. The angel brought down her arms and smiled into the coldness that kept everyone locked up. Drenched and lovely, she walked slowly to her home where she would undress and soak in a rose-colored tub, candles lit.

Hold me, he whispered to his lover. She couldn’t understand why he always needed to be held. He couldn’t understand why she could bear to be apart, especially when they were so much better as a whole. Yes, baby. And she held him. Not for her sake, but for his. He would wonder months later when they separated if his touch was torture to her or if she meant it when she said she couldn’t live without him. But she was dead. Just like that. And so his thoughts tormented him. Did I love her enough? Did she love me like I loved her? If she hadn’t died, would they have held on to each other for the rest of their lives? Fucking bastard drunk driver. He went to a priest and poured his heart out. First in drops, then in gallons. Still, his pain wasn’t empty and still, the priest never made him feel better. He tried to turn to God directly but he heard as loud as cannons in an empty hall the haunting sounds called silence. He walked out of the church and looked up into the sky. Tears never came. He took one full breath and life entered into his lungs. His blood continued its flow. His heart ran steady, thudding to the invisible beat of healing. He walked slowly like a soldier back into the norms of everyday life.

Do you love me? She said it so sweetly that it was easy for him to say yes. She was always sweet with him. That’s why he kept her around. No other woman would do such a thing after she caught you in bed with her best friend, after one night you drank too much and pulled her by the hair for no reason at all, after her test results came back positive even though before had been negative. She was sweet and so he called her his sugar. Sugar looked into her lovers lightning blue eyes and wanted nothing more than to kiss every inch of his body and lay her head in the crook of his neck. Exactly where she belonged. She didn’t care that her parents hated him and her friends wanted to kill him. Because even though they judged easily not one of them could give her what he gave her in one simple look. Not one of them would fill her heart, her being, her entire existence with the electricity when his force field surrounded her. Love. She was utterly in love with him. So in love that she didn’t give a damn when he wandered to the others, nor did she care when he had his hiccups. No one was perfect. Only God understood this love, only the angels up above would be jealous of my hearts notions. She believed with all her soul that she had found the one true thing that would bring her life meaning. She found love, and tainted or not, love was love.

He looked down at the words on his paper. Dear Emilia. Writing her name made him remember the last time he held her in his arms. Naked on the bed she sat in his lap and for a split second, he wondered if they had been the same being in a past life. One molecule split and separated for one eternity. Thank God I finally found you, lover. Now, but too late. He thought of the way her hair smelled and how soft her skin was. Her laugh and how bright her eyes shone even in the darkness. It was perfect, just like the way she touched him as if she owned the blueprints to his pleasure. My beautiful heart holder, I need you. He had been sitting at his desk for 30 minutes now and had only been able to write those two words which he replayed over and over in his head. Dear Emilia. When they made love her name rolled off his tongue like a flower blooming, like a sun rising, like a sea bathed in moonlight. He wanted to pour out his heart to her and tell her that this was it. This was finally fucking it. That he would leave his wife and children and together they would start their lives together. Laugh and hold hands in public, unguilty lover marks, free, absolutely free. Dear Emilia. He reread the two words and looked up from the paper into the fireplace that warmed his office. He could hear a door open somewhere in the house and heard his wife yelling his name. Shut that woman up. He would write the letter to his lover and tell her that he would now and forever be hers to have. After this there was only happiness, together. Dear Emilia. He looked down at the two words and tried to put his final decision into words that made sense, words that gave him courage. Upstairs he could hear his daughter laughing or crying. He just needed the first sentence and the rest would flow. The perfect sentence which would be the beginning of forever. Dear Emilia. Slowly a pit grew in his stomach and the words started to blur. He realized that it wasn’t the words, but instead tears that fell from his eyes. His wife screamed his name again, and as a reflex, a soft sob escaped his mouth. He looked up into the fire. Blazing with accusations. Dear Emilia. Quickly and without another thought, he wiped his eyes and torn the two-worded paper from its note pad, crumbled it in a ball and tossed it into the flames. Dear Emilia. He rose from his chair and left his bravado behind to answer his wife and check on his daughter.


Lindsay Reva

Faded Pages

She had placed it in the palms of her hands, measured it from every angle, peered at it from afar, turning one simple thing into a fixation that was now her most treasured possession. A memory.

In 5 years, something would happen, a simple trigger and again the fixation would reoccur, into a continuous taste of pleasure settling on the tip of her tongue. In another 10 years, she would be walking in the park and a sensation of the light licking her face would reach her mind, again bringing her back to the memory which she tried to forget, but never tried enough. She wondered after years and years passed, whether that simple memory was one at all or instead something she had dreamt in the early hours of the morning when she lay half awake and half in bliss.

Somewhere in the faded pages of a book she had once read, one moment could last forever. How naive it made her feel now when she remembered reading it for the first time and thought, bullshit. But now she knew. Bullshit was real.

One second was all it took for her to understand that she had finally lived through the moment. Tattooed heart. Cut deep, Signed and sealed with a blood oath. Never the same. Meeting a soul and without knowing what her soul was made up of, understanding without a doubt that her soul and his soul were exactly the same. Not one particle or essence different. Every curve and flow, that of the same.

She sat at a cafe. The cafe which she had breakfast and black coffee every day for the past two years, alone. When one day a gentleman came and sat right next to her, looking her in the eyes with an apologetic smile. She smiled back automatically even though she wanted to do nothing but ask this man what the hell he wanted.

You. She hadn’t even asked the question before he spoke. I want you.

Her normal mental process didn’t slow or speed up. Instead, the words which left her lips had a balance of equal clarity and precision. Follow me. So he did. She led him, and they held hands as if it were the thousandth time instead of the first. Neither felt awkward. Neither felt the urge to fill the silence. They just were. When they reached her bedroom she lay on her stomach on the white bed while the rest of the room remained engulfed in brilliant sunlight. Beams fell on her and turned her chestnut hair the color of rose gold. She closed her eyes when she felt his weight beside her and his hand slide down her spine. She wanted him to kiss her. He answered by silently brushing her hair to the side and placing his lips on her skin. In a clean white room, they were the only chaos.

She had met her match and it lasted less than eleven minutes.

After, she walked him to the door and they looked at one another knowing they would never see each other again. He thought she was beautiful and for the rest of his life would never forget how she looked in the white room filled with sunlight. In 20 years, he would still feel knots in his stomach when images of that day came into his mind. Her cinnamon-tinted lips and long eyelashes. She knew there would be no one else who could fill her emptiness and for the rest of her life, his smile would be a curse to her happiness. His dimples and almond buttered eyes.

Time had other plans though, and life would move on. Even if the memory didn’t believe in it.


Lindsay Reva.


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.

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