name. Sarya Wu

right now. Fourth year studying Spanish and Business at the University of Edinburgh


Winter #2


Each person 

skirts around the scaffolding they promised would be done 

by the time I graduate 

Like wisps rushing away from a fire pit 

Casual and fast 


I wish I could catch them one by one to tell them 

the bouts of urgency should take a break sometimes 

to let them know that they are their own personal beacons of beauty 

Combusting in different hues of the cold winter blues 

in overtly large scarves and coats, 

letting their clothes say what their frozen faces cannot. 


The heart is never just "superficial" or "basic",

Never what people judge you aesthetically to be- 

Nothing is ever what it seems

whether you're "normcore" sporting anoraks 

or hipster beard bearing coffee connoisseurs, 

you're still cold when you're outside at night 

and still desiring warmth in the embraces you share 

still deriving joy from the company of friendship

and suffering from the pain of heartbreak 

forgetting that the man who begs outside the nearby deli 

has a reason

a name 

and a story 

just like all of us


we all walk along the same pavements

running off to wherever we are appointed to go 

sometimes failing to know the potential friendship in another

"click-clack!" stomping closely behind you

late for a lecture

or a shift at work 

even running to catch a bus, 

perhaps enjoying the same kind of breath mints  

the same kind of music

and the same kind of simple pleasures 

especially the type that involves surveying strangers 

and seeing which kind of conversation will be a catalyst to a relationship 

of any sort 

noting which contexts help bloom a seedling of a dynamic 

that is fruitful as a forest is with quiet life 

rife with curious wonder... 


only if you allow it to strike you like thunder,

to stop you in your tracks 

and feel 


these are the thoughts that keep me up at night


there are cream puddles of pathetic ice lollies on the floor and wet abandoned gloves sticking on the sharp fence tips/ sagging as if waving to the lost opportunity of making things work and staying together/ i hear the squeaking of rubber soles gliding for lack of friction against the perpetually moist concrete that is molested by the rain every single morning and night/the water seeps through my coat and my jumper and is content to keep itself there uninvited no matter how long i put it on the radiator to dry/there's an unknown and ominous stain that keeps me suspicious of whatever i may have touched, hugged, or crawled on in the last 6 months/ i understand that my trust in everything is eroding like the polar ice caps that so many idiots don't believe in/ i aimlessly amble around on the apathetic airs of autumn kissed alleys, attributing this lack of rhythm or speed to a fundamental lack of motivation/i understand this is my reality and not anyone elses'/ but i also understand that this is the only reality that has been cracked in the periphery because it has failed to intersect with yours/ and it is also just like the moment you enter the off-license to buy ketchup and you spend 5 minutes deciding whether or not you want the Heinz bottle or the shitty off-brand option that costs literally £1.49 less/ then you see someone take one off the shelf without thinking/and you have little debate with yourself on whether that person is more privileged than you/ then you decide to fuck all rhyme and reason and splurge and so you grab "fancy one" only to put it back 5 seconds later when you remember that you're broke as shite/ and so is the rest of this goddamn existence regardless of your monetary wealth because sadness is part of longing which is part of yearning which is part of desire which is part of living/ at least according to buddha who said accept that you are suffering but accept that you can overlook that with all the beauty in this world/ and when i was in primary school they asked if we could have dinner with any body dead or alive i should have said "siddartha gautama" because then i could have thrown the question at him / "what if i love and i love and i love and i love and still suffer?" / i would have loved to known the answer to that question but instead my 10 year old brain said "martin luther king" because i still believed in dreams at the time



A striped tanktop 

I grasp at the waist

like a lifeline.


Your intimacy

saves me 

from my mind. 


And when you are gone 

I will try not to pine.


I will think back to the shivers 

tingling down my spine,

Of your red hair and blue eyes 

Of your freckles and giggles 

Of an attraction 

That was all 

Too simple. 


Of your face and its simples

Like a pond and its ripples 

Exciting a body

That was just, 



Much too still.

Find Sarya saying stuff to people on stages on Thursdays at the Forest Cafe from 18:00 to 20:00.


Go have a peak at her facebook page as well: