Of loss​

Climbing out of bed during an international pandemic is made dangerously difficult by the snooze button.
Here are prototypes of more persuasive alarm clocks.

Results are promising!

Some context to explain the embedded imagery: Living in the same university dormitory, I came to know a unique knock on my bedroom door, and their pitch-perfect whistling down the staircase. Like all passionate relationships among emotionally unequipped teenagers, it ended. Beds, to phones, to nothing. For good measure, I was tormented by unwelcome, nostalgic dreams which threatened to keep me hung up, and keep me awake in protest. And this went on far too long for an adult supposedly not fond of being miserable every other day. This poem began as a codified plea to my closest friends to keep her name unheard and unspoken, but during writing, became itself an attempt at catharsis. I like to think it worked.

Working hard with the talented Suguru Endo in the Oxford office. Yes, we scrubbed all the important research secrets from the whiteboard first, and no, you shouldn't treat your classical guitar this way.