• Fiona Alwora


This poem is about a friend I lost to suicide 8 years ago this month. He was a gentle soul, though he probably wouldn't appreciate me saying so. We didn't know each other for very long but in those months I spent almost all my free time with him. It was an unlikely friendship, but it worked.

When we weren't busy we'd drive around the desert and listen to music. He took me to my first (and only) country concert - Alan Jackson - and the Griffith Observatory. We stopped at seedy little dives and picked out music on the juke box. We ate at this hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant and always ordered the molcajete and margaritas. If we hadn't seen each other all day one of us would text "Beer thirty?" and we'd get together on his patio to hang out for a few hours. He is one of my favorite parts of my 20s.

As much as I cherish the chance I got to know him, it frustrates me that I will only ever know him as he was in that brief moment in time.

This is a song he introduced me to that still makes my playlist rotation. There are a few versions but this was his favorite.

1 view0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Bubble Bath

When I was very young, I would take a bubble bath every chance I got. I loved sitting in the warm water surrounded by all this sweet smelling froth (usually green apple). I loved challenging myself to


I love headphones. I have loved them since my first pair as a preteen and I have to stop myself from buying them everywhere I go. I feel a little sad if I find myself stuck somewhere alone without the

Dangerous - A tribute to Kahlil Gibran

I have been moved and fascinated by what it takes to be a protester, day to day, week to week. I mean this in a broad sense from whistle blowers and investigative reporters to people marching in the s