top of page
  • Writer's pictureSophia Aguiñaga


The love of my life is gone. Yet, she is not gone.

She surrounds me and fills me, just as she always has. Each step, concrete underneath my feet, impresses her onto the pavement, just it always has. She is the birdsong that flies from my throat when I croon or speak, just as she always has been. Each stroke of my pen, the words that flow from me to the pen to the page, she is the ink which makes them visible, she is that magic messenger which carries them from the infinite space between heavenly bodies to Earth, from unseen to seen. She is the sun which warmly calls my seed to sprout through endless darkness in faith of her face, to reach ever toward it, born to reach to reach toward it, mechanically engineered and destitute to all other operation. She infuses my cells, inspires my blood flow, aches inside my pains and floats inside my pleasures, just as she always has.

She always has. She always has. Even before I knew her, she always has.

The love of my life is gone.


Recent Posts

See All

Interior Castles [Ch. 27+| DRAFT]

CHAPTER 27 All this talk of survival and biology. You didn’t come to me for science, I know. Biology is not my expertise. I’m introducing a framework that right sizes biology as a variable in the huma

What's Killing Black People?

I need you to know what's killing Black people. Is it police violence? Absolutely. It's been on everyone's mind since 2020. But, what may not yet be clear to you is that the infinitely nuanced and com

(sueños sagrados)

my dream, the moon pulled you out of me just as i began to seek you and since i've neither been sleeping nor awake entranced and dancing toward you and for you my dream, i've been moving closer and cl


bottom of page