An Anthology of Notes App entries

During my first year at university, I started using the Notes app to record my thoughts. Whenever something stirred, I wrote it down. This post is a selection of those entries, shaped by change.

Will update as I go.

shore

ive been so tired lately
like the tide just keeps pulling me under
and I can't do anything about
the sand and debris it drags over me

but I know, I know
that one day the moon will
come, pull the tide back,
and maybe for a moment
I'll be free of it all,
face up to the sky,
eyes glistening in moonlight
before it all comes rushing back — 12th of Feb, '26

irony

an Iranian student,
studying at an American institution,
as Iranian missiles carve streaks of fire into the sky above me.

i am told i am being ‘liberated’
by an American leader
via the assassination of Iran’s leaders.

i receive updates from the American embassy,
and also messages of safety
from the Iranian-American president of my university.

ahhhh that hyphen, that damn hyphen. Iranian. American.

god bless cosmopolitanism,
god bless that part of me that insists on belonging,
belonging to places that do not belong to each other,
god bless having to carry two names in one body,
and having no where to call home. — 3rd of March, '26

rise

when I die,
bury me under the great cypress
don’t erect a headstone for my grave
and when I die,
do not visit my grave
under the great cypress.

for I am not dead.

when the great cypress’ roots wrap my body
when they meet my eyes,
the cypress will see through them all I have seen.
it will see the love, the rage, the contempt yes,
but it will also see itself, standing tall.

for when its roots caress my fingers,
the cypress will feel through them
the pain of gripping a knife, of carving something of your own flesh and bones—
but also the rough certainty of its own bark.

and when its roots coil around my heart,
they will drink from it—
the same love,
the same rage,
the same old contempt for man.

I will rise with it,
taller than I ever stood in life,
my eyes fixed forever on the skyline.

so do not visit me when I die.

if you wish to see me,
look to the cypress—
the one that will not stop staring
into the skyline. — 26th of March, '26

geranium

in my cold, bitter world
i thought of you.
so that your scent could come and
permeate through my garden
i thought of you,
so that i could hear your laughs,
so that i could perch them like the geraniums,
on the windowsill.

little did I know,
that your laughter was the sky.
the whole sky. — 11th of April, '26

postscript to self

To you, 7 semesters in the future;

Spread your wings, yes,
but don't forget that certainty fractures without warning.

Even Icarus laughed as he fell, as death whispered in his ear.

Did he laugh at the symmetry of ambition,
that the moment of ascent is always one breath
away from the fall,

Or did he laugh at the way the world keeps turning,
even as a fallen body cuts through the air? — 12th of December, '25

to start empty

in 12 hours, I become a university student.

I will, once again, have something to chase.
something to carve my nights and days around.

and finally, rid myself of the weight of weightlessness,

and feel the edge of purpose cut into me.

in 12 hours, I will, once more,
work for the knife,
let it claim its due,
cut by cut,
hour by hour,

until I am shaped into something it can use. — 19th of August, '25

and to end empty

slowly

i thought i was done
and i am,
but not in the way you think.

yes,
i don’t wake up early on sundays anymore.
nor do i sleep as soon as i get home.
instead,
i’ve forgotten how to sleep at all.

slowly

you ask me why i’m still stressed.
yes,
there’s nothing left to work toward,
nothing left to carve out of myself

but im still sitting here
staring at what has become of me,
at the edges of what could have been.

slowly

every time i think i am finished,
my body reminds me
consequences don’t arrive on time.
decisions surface only later,
after the storm has already passed.

the truth is
i am being immobilized.
paralyzed by nothing,
which is also everything.

i thought i was done,
and i am
just not in the way you think.

i am spent.
exhausted.
learning how to exist
as nothing
after once being everything.

slowly

i am realizing
i am still working for the knife—
that i still start the day lying
and end with the truth

that my fingers are still clenched.
only now
clenched around nothing

so i drag nothing
along the edges of nothing,
hoping to catch something

slowly,

trying to conjure
what was lost. — 1st of May, '26