Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

Dear Simon, I'm writing this letter to you because I miss you dearly. It seems like only yesterday we were swimming in the creek by the estate, and you commented how my skin glows so deliciously in the sun. But you left me, and that was your choice. Now I'm stranded in this massive villa all alone, with just my echoes as company. I won't dwell on this point too much and guilt you, for I know your abandonment must be weighing heavy on your heart. I'm also writing to tell you about my recent afflictions, as I have no one else who will listen. Roughly six months ago, I began to develop a case of insomnia. Normally my eyelids would flutter closed at no later than midnight, but recently I haven't been able to sleep until three or four o'clock in the morning. When I do manage to fall asleep, the quality of rest is abysmal, filled with short nightmares and night sweats. Laura, our maid, and Helga, the cook, don't sleep in the house, of course, for they have t...

I had a dream that I was walking through a deserted subway train terminal. The hallways were winding and there were no direction signs anywhere, no maps, and no points of reference. It did not seem that late at night, but every underground store was closed. The place smelled like the eerie remains of all the souls who passed through the terminal that day: baby powder, cinnamon buns, vanilla scented cigarillos, sweaty underarms after working a long day at the construction site... the place smelled, most of all, like aching ligaments and the longing to drown oneself after spending a day sitting in an office. Drown in whiskey, or an odd romance, or insanity. Everyone who passed through the bus terminal that day had wanted to drown. I could also hear the echoes of stale voices, which were happy just a few hours before, but now seemed like ghosts. Children's laughter, recovering addicts spitting loudly into the garbage cans, the rusty wheels of old strollers squeaking through the windin...

            Although you were the nicest, most beautiful woman I ever met, you were simply too good to be true. This is the last you will ever hear from me. I loved you.             R.T.             Stella found this note on her bedside table, tucked beneath a candle and a mangled copy of the New Testament. She read it over and over again, as she prepared her morning coffee and let her dog out into the backyard. She sat on her sofa and continued to stare at the note, hoping that it would make sense the more she tried to decipher it. Was there a hidden code? Was it a metaphorical verse? Stella was most hurt by the constant use of past tense in the short paragraph (I loved you) with the –d so undisguised, so brash, and so horrid, she was almost afraid to read it as “loved” instead of “love.” Richard still loved her, or so...

There was something about the way he talked. He made anyone who was near him feel a sudden sense of unease. The way his words shot from his mouth like hot bullets, maiming all those who were in his proximity. There was this peculiar way he squinted his eyes so you weren’t sure if he was falling asleep or straining his eyelids to keep himself focused on evildoing.             He was the type of man who didn’t believe in God. He was cynical about absolutely everything, from the long line up at the coffee shop to the very meaning of existence. In fact, he told me that he killed God. We were sitting out on the front porch one nigh staring at the stars. What do you see up there? he asked me. The heavens, I said. He smirked and told me that he killed God long ago. I thought the idea was impossible. And then he said in a suddenly stern voice: I have something to tell you. Because I’m wiser than you. I’m a man. I’ve been through more tha...

The worst part of the day is when your teeth are brushed and your hygienic tasks are completed. Your work is done and you brain can't handle any more badgering from the world. The laptop is in sleep mode and the cell phone alarm is set to 8 am. This is the worst part of the day because, in the dune of time left between midnight and falling into a nightly coma, you are faced to deal with yourself. It is in this span of time that you forget about time at all.  You think about all the people you've talked to that day. You said good morning to the bus driver and you never saw him again. You split a lemon poppyseed muffin with your friend and you laughed together. You talked with the professor about his questionable teaching method. You explained to your cat that it's not proper etiquette to vomit into a food bowl. You said good night to your mother and texted bye to your lover and tweeted gnight world #peaceout .  Now, torn from the rest of the world, you suffer a sinist...

He was the type of guy who would drink luke-warm Molson straight from the can. Then he would pass the can to me and I'd leave my strawberry lipstick on the rim. We'd sit there for hours staring at each other and it would be most natural silence. It made me feel at ease. Then one day he told me that he wanted to swim far away and I nodded and said I liked to swim too. We were young, you know. Youth is the deadliest disease. So we stripped to our underwear and he bit his lip when he noticed the blemish on the side of my hip. He pinched my stomach in a way that was both childish and suggestive. I smiled and said we should swim. The problem was that we had no idea where to swim to. We sat at the end of the dock half-dressed and split another Molson. It was hot as a cup of tea, as it was basking in the sun with us all day. But we were young and diagnosed with youth and infatuation.* He said that he loved me. And the step from infatuation to love is one that is large and full of ...

When I was seven years old, I got three dollars a week of allowance. I usually spent it on bubblegum or really cheap stuffed animals. Then one day, when I was with my parents at Wal-Mart, I snooped through the "summer toys" section to come across the most incredible toy ever, in my mind- an insect catcher. It was made of clear plastic and the lid had an opening that you could slide open, then snap shut, in order to catch the bugs. There was a net on one side of the container so that the bugs would be able to breathe. I was flabbergasted at the idea that such a wonderful invention existed, but I knew that my parents would never buy me this toy. They would tell me to get a Ziploc bag or tupperware instead. Those caught bugs too. But this was a special bug catcher and it cost fifteen dollars. It took me four good months of saving up allowance in order to buy this insect catcher (I spent a bit of it on bubblegum, so it slowed down the "saving" process). At last, I pro...

           There were two people at the beginning of time- a man and a woman. They were cold to each other. They slept on opposite sides of the creek and each one of them scavenged for food on their own. There was an abundance of plants and animals that they could choose from. Although they were young, they suffered. They knew no other life but this one. They settled in this lonely paradise, accepting it as their only reality. They didn’t communicate with each other because they were too scared to. People are wild and unpredictable. They can be boiling teakettles one day and sanguine sloths the next. It is indisputably easier to avoid the complexities of human nature entirely.             One day, a heavy storm hit the land, and the man and woman huddled together beneath the leafiest tree they could find. The man took the woman’s hand and breathed on it, making it warm. They looked into ea...