013// Relive Me

It’s lovely to me the way you talk about the parts of life that get you excited
it’s as if you are experiencing them for the very first time
over and over
Watching your eyes light up anew as you relive something that has already thrilled you once before-
it’s a privilege.
I find myself becoming increasing attached to the corners of your mouth
the ones that inch upwards when you talk about the clouds

Perhaps this is quite selfish,
but I like it even more when you re-live me
.

06.06.17 

Being loved is a privilege, a privilege, a privilege and I think more people should write honestly about how that feels. 

With Love, 

Kolina 

Places Love Exists (Europe Edition)

For about as long as I can remember I have been showered with love. I am so unbelievably lucky to have grown up in a family that said “I love you” more than necessary (you can never say it enough).  I’ve always inherently known that love exists. Love is important. Love is a powerful emotion that guides passion, and caring, and changes the way we interact and give to those around us. However, what took me some time to appreciate is the multitude of ways in which love manifests itself around us. In fact, is has become a huge fascination of mine to search for it everywhere. So in little notes and scribbles I have acquired lists of places where I think love exists. Here is the Europe edition.

  • On a ferry boat in Greece where a father pretends to be a choo-choo train for his little boy up and down the isles.
  • The families on the streets of Paris. Both mom and dad cuddle and play with their children before they brace for the night ahead.  A heartbreaking form of love.
  • A teenage girl walking down the street holding her father’s hand.
  • The driver who skyped his Canadian friend on our way to the airport in Athens
    • Also, the way this taxi driver so absolutely adored his life.
  • A woman walking past me in Florence on the phone, pep talking her friend.
    • “You got to give it all you got and if that doesn’t work you are going to try something else. You can do this.”
  • The strangers on the street who helped my family get me to the hospital in Greece who then texted AND emailed us to see how we were doing.
    • We were no longer in their country anymore and they were still checking in.
  • The man in Italy who thanked me profusely for buying a single pen from him at his merchant stand. He clearly used this shop as a main source of income.
    • He apologized so many times for not being able to speak english. I wish I could have apologized to him for not being able to speak Italian.
  • My aunt who I have only seen a few times in my life, hugging me and crying as we drove away from her house in Nürnberg, Germany.
  • The family on the pier at Fuschl am See, Austria.
    • “Papa, Mama, Komm!”
  • An old folks home that was having an afternoon dance in Munich, Germany.
    • We stood in the streets, watching through an open door, as a room was filled with moving feet and laughter
  • The way my heart felt when I walked into a room and was embraced by friends that I had not seen for years in Schwabach, Germany.
  • The way thousands of voices sound when they gather arm in arm and sing a song called “Wahre Freundschaft” (true friendship) while the sun is setting on a field in Romania.
    • Also, the way culture has a way of embracing your identity and binding two people together in forever friendship.
    • Also, the act preserving a culture.
  • Le mur des je t’aime, or the wall of “I love you’s” in Montmatre, Paris.
    • I sat at watched as couples young and old, kids with their parents, and friends kissed and posed for selfies in front of the wall that has ‘I love you’ written in 250 languages.

I think the take away here is that it’s everywhere and its all-encompassing. In the past I have often tried to decide which forms of love were more important or unimportant to me. I didn’t give romantic love any sort of value until I experienced it. I know the earth shattering reality of what it means to share love with friends and family while they are still alive, because I know loss. There is heartbreaking love. There is love for places. Love for strangers. Love for humanity. There is SELF LOVE.  I’ve learned it’s all so very important and the ways in which love is present in your life changes. It’s easy miss out on the beauty of one form just because you’re too busy looking for a different one.

Most importantly though (here comes the cheese) … give love. everywhere. always. to everyone (including yourself). no matter what.

With Love,

Kolina

007// Finding Home

I wrote the first few lines of this poem in a grocery store parking lot in the notes section of my phone. The idea of home is something I’ve turned over in my mind for quiet a few years now and I’ve never really been sure what to make of it. However, in a hotel bed of all ironic places, I think I finally found the words…

And so that makes me think you really can’t make homes out of human beings.
Because they take things with them when they go.
Like the smell of their baking
or the sound of their voice when you call them on the phone.
They take their laugh
and their cologne
and the way they touch you.
They take the comfort
and the reassurance
and every answer
to every question they leave behind.
We settle like dust into the spaces between their bones
and when they go,
the parts of us that we moved in go with.

Humans are not your home.
you are.

Root into yourself. Dig lower.
Plant love so deep within yourself.
Tuck happiness into the safest corners of your rib cage
so that you always have some where only you know to look
Run your hands over every inch of your body
until you know it as well as the walls of the house you grew up in-
And know that you are home.
Say it as you feel yourself breathing-
One hand on your chest
another entwined in your sweet smelling hair,

“I am home,
this body is home,
my soul is so beautifully safe in this home.”

|k.tavares

004// The Artist

 

It’s that weird feeling you know

when you feel like you get someone’s heart but you just don’t.

you know you have painted waves under their collar bones and the trees on their inner

thighs

 but you didn’t stick around to help them tread water or grow in the sunlight.

How can you take comfort knowing their limbs are withering, and dying and breaking

while you kiss the life right out of them.

you completely missed her soul didn’t you?

Eyes glittering though sheets that kept out light and therefor there was no real need to feel.

she will believe you.

She will think that through cracked lips and vulnerable sighs that she should care.

but it was you wasn’t it?

You , who with half closed eyes scratched a half moon spectacle into her lower back

you that burned so painfully sweet.

She was not your canvas to paint.

No one asked you to brush your eyelashes down her hip bones, and never once did she offer sugar to tame your demons.

You who chose to drown in her waters anyways. You filled your cup until you were drunk on her scent at which point you decided she was no longer your drug of choice

You who tried to glue the pieces back together into security and safeness

but pieces of a painting never fit back the way they used too after their canvas is broken

You should have realized that I am my own work of art and destruction

it never had anything to do with you.

02.04.15