vivian meng 🪄
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  • October 18, 2022

    vignettes

    it is through witnessing life and lives since departed that you can breathe more colour into your own.

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  • March 11, 2023

    time: 1

    I’ve always had a finnicky relationship with time. At times, I feel pinned down by it. I don’t operate well under its pressure. The blankness of my mind mirrors the sheet in front of me as I see the stopwatch at the front of the lecture hall ominously trudge onwards, despite how I am not.…

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  • February 24, 2023

    nouns

    if people are places, you feel like home

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  • January 8, 2023

    effervescent

    life is like costco sparkling juice

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  • December 6, 2022

    courage is a flame

    will you fall into the seeming abyss?

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  • November 30, 2022

    remembering

    The passage of time. With each year, it turns over another page in our books, etches another wrinkle into the faces of your loved ones, silvers the hair. I think so hard about it, as though trying to suspend it in my mind. It’s no use, because even as I think about it, the seconds…

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  • November 19, 2022

    kintsugi

    bring together the pieces of your soulassemble those fragments,custom ready-to-make furniture for your homethe books on your childhood shelfthe sold-out stadium tour: stuffed animal audiencesworlds you created and once understoodnow discarded, threads fraying, dust gathering we are a shell of ourselves, a houseuntil we reunite the slivers to create a home there are infinite ways…

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  • November 18, 2022

    Protected: stargazing

    There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

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  • November 18, 2022

    dog-eared

    I think there’s something so beautiful and pure in children and dogs. I’m thinking about the way they run unabashedly into the world, following their intuition and expanding their map of what’s in the realm of possibility with each step they take. I mean, come on, don’t tell me you’ve never seen a bunch of…

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  • November 15, 2022

    Protected: invisibility cloak

    There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

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  • November 12, 2022

    blurred edges

    I’m a porcupine at times. Spiky around the edges, prickly when I feel like my boundaries are tested. Perhaps the cowlicks that my brush could never lasso in when I was growing up is a manifestation of that. Call it hair determinism. Whenever I was being a stubborn child, mom called me 刺儿球, which literally…

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