#thejunkfolder

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for the other writer [jan 2018]

your words warm gentle soft :: synesthetic :: unfurling like lung-fulls of winter :: rising :: weightless wonders like snowflakes :: secret mouthfuls of midnight clouds spilling over :: blanketing barren landscapes with their watery gravity.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, jan 2018 [series]  odes to other souls [image] @harisnukem, via instagram

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basic instincts [jul 2018]

i understand being scared.

when connection w another deepens and begins to touch upon our underworld of pain, the natural inclination is to recoil.

pain is unpleasant, difficult to alchemize/transmute, especially when we don't have the bandwith, capacity or desire to dance w these deep hurts.

so when someone comes along and we feel an energetic affinity w them, it is inevitable that the mirroring that naturally occurs w everyone we encounter, is heightened, more direct with this person. the lines between our illusory separation begin to blur. we are in fact one and the same. their pain is ours, and quickly, it becomes clear that we are hurting in the same ways.

as different as our separate situations can initially seem, fundamentally, there is a common thread leading us to the root of these past pains that perpetually haunt our present, escalating in severity the longer we neglect them.

at that juncture, we can choose to buddy up, share the weight of these burdens and heal what we clearly haven't been able to alone. or, we can choose to disengage from one another and continue suffering these burdens alone, depriving ourselves from the relief of being truly seen without judgement and held in a space of understanding, unconditional love, and affirmation.

both choices are valid.

for it is true, too, and peculiar, that being deeply understood can be painful. bc it means we aren't truly alone, and there are complex emotional implications around that to unpack. and once again that truth leads us back to that same juncture:

recoil into the comfort of our known discomforts,

or lean into the discomfort of engaging the catalyzing elements that allow us to break free from the pain we think we are chained to, from the incessant suffering we've turned into a comfort zone.

doing the latter allows us to make space for healing and embodying our own extraordinary growth. and ultimately, that feels really good and we gain the ability to access greater reserves of power and resilience upon integrating that growth.

and sometimes we are not ready for that.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, jul 2018 [series] breaking up: a how-to, in case of emergency [image] @dreamersclub, via instagram

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burning woulds [oct, 2018]

i long for the ashes of us,  a return to the dirt, to the nothingness that we are. instead, i feel myself to be a smoldering ember willing willful winds to fracture & scatter what remains of our splintered woulds.

i pray for rain. or, at least, a single tear that dampens and spares me our joyless joining by these small, tireless fires stripping me of my fortress, my forest of wordlessness, my desire to deny myself the pleasure of burning across this universe of distance between us and the parts of me suspended in this eternal embrace w you.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, oct 2018 [series] breaking up: a how to, in case of emergency [image] @v1olet7ray, instagram

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missed connection [jul, 2016]

i'd been thinking about him, in between thinking about you. how we could have come so close. you walking by me, and me, walking past you, only to not meet. this never happened to me before. me being intrigued by a passerby on the street. it's just so bizarre the way i can't get my mind off you walking by me walking past you.

you smiled. and i think i may have smiled, too, but not fast enough; you startled me. still, we walked on, but i turned around. you did, too. at the exact same time. and i smiled for sure this time, and you did, too.

i got shy, looked away and walked on until i felt on second thought, let me look again. and so, i did. and you did, too. at the exact same time. still, i took another step forward, away from you.

yet, i couldn't help myself and turned back a third time, to watch you walk away. you looked back, too, and stopped at the threshold of the deli on hope street. the one i'd just walked out of. either i left early, or you came late.

you stared at me and i stared at you, delighted, laughing, hoping you'd walk back toward me, to where i stood, pretending not to wait for you.

but you didn't move. you just stared. undecided. so i turned away, into the nursery. and you went into the deli. the one on hope street.

when i left the plants and the trees to step back onto the street, i hoped i would see you again. but, i didn't.

why? why didn't we meet? why didn't you stop when you turned around for the second time and found me looking at you, looking at me? why didn't i wave the third time, when you stood at the door of the deli, the one on hope street?

why did we leave each other, two strangers who crossed paths on hope street? why? when it was clear to you and me, we wanted to meet?

___

[by] luna elisa granados, jul 2016 [series] about a boy [image] @dazedinn, instagram

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a wrinkle in time [oct, 2015]

the fine line; i've found it hard to find--where breath and flesh blends and bends, yours into mine.

somehow i've crossed it, though i'm not sure how, nor at what time.

it was the panic that pressed me into you. like an unsent letter tucked under the flap of a sticky-lipped envelope. paperless words and curves and verbs folding into themselves.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, oct 2015 [series] about a boy [image] @eloymorales73, instagram

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at the studio w/ a.k. [jun, 2015]

we had the lights out. it was too hot even for the dim light we switch on when the incessant buzzing of the fluorescents becomes insufferable. the fan whirred in the background, its blades blasting lukewarm air somewhere behind and around us, never quite reaching out to cool the heat that seemed to seep even deeper into our skins. 

he sat at the edge of the couch, head hanging low between his legs, overwhelmed by the heat. my fingertips darted back and forth over the keyboard. he was silent. the springs on the couch creaked as he unhinged the back and opened it flat. 

he lay very still. 

i stood up from the chair and faced the fan for a few moments. it was cooler from up close. i basked in it for a moment. considerably cooler, i turned the fan directly onto his nude torso.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, jun 2015 [series] banalities [image] @twigandstone, instagram

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when’s days [dec, 2014]

you said it’d be “like old times”, you and me in a house made to house less than three. we were four. sometimes, five. well we used to be.

fear.

a field of pure potentiality available to me. yet, i could only see potential for three; in one, you were free.

free

to be brighter now than you ever could be in a house made for one, already occupied by three. ___

[by] luna elisa granados, oct 2014 [series] child’s play [image] @robin isely via @between.mirrors, instagram

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snowflakes [dec, 2014]

i’ve only ever watched snow looking up, watching it fall to the ground. i’ve never looked out from the terrace of a penthouse, 25 floors up, a place i call home, to watch the snow floating in the air as it free falls down. i can’t even be sure that it reaches the ground. i’ve never watched the snow fall like this. i thank the heavens for this snow, watery stars sprinkling love on the plants that so want to grow.

there are things i want to tell a tiny human. like, it’s okay to be lost, to wander and drift, to wish and wait for the whim of the wind to catch in her sails. i’d tell her—this tiny human—that the meaning of life is love, living it, sharing it, being it. and finally, that snowflakes are fluffy crystal raindrops so uniquely magical when you look at them up close.

holidays are a touchy subject. growing up i longed to be a part of the togetherness and festivity. now, at 25 and far from obliged to shun these celebrations, i simply choose to. or more true, i’m not ready not to and i’d rather not the company of the city and it’s people with their thoughts and things and otherness that sees not through me, but beyond me.

instead, i prefer whispering to the snowflakes how i am humbled by their splendid beauty, emulating their silent majesty. i save my affection for the love-colored tulips blooming on my table, acknowledging their vulnerable strength, thanking them for opening and closing to better serve their ends. and i’ll begrudge thinking about the things i can’t take back.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, dec 2014 [series] child’s play [image] @urbanreport, instagram