It is not pleasant to be torn between two worlds you love.

I know what it feels like.

Everything we know about ourselves is relayed by sources outside of us.

My words can be a sense of comfort, a feeling of being understood, a thought, an awakening. 

Mathematics: prove me

with your trig identities

As early as nine years old, I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, poking and prodding at the skin above my eyes to create double eyelids.

I remember

That sun-kissed evening in 1914

When my mother and father had left for the west, they brought few things with them. 

He scuttled furiously from beneath the undergrowth, pausing every few seconds to catch his breath. 

People evaporate.

But not as quickly as water.

Jill climbed the dusty, rotting steps, and her upper half disappeared into the gloom. 

I found love in the plastic heart of a run-down souvenir shop. Sweat had dried in a sticky landscape across my back, and I was out of breath from the sheer force of the midday sun, and I was standing in between . . . 

"Vente, mi amor, help me with dinner." I bound over to the kitchen, shooting a full-brace grin up at my abuela. She chuckled, patting me on the back, and led me to the counter.

"Here is the recipe", she said, waving to an ancient book . . .