Nina Brav

Writer, Blogger, Entrepreneur

Sparkle (Pt 4 of 6 in "Healing Series")

I love the way my hair bounces when I jump and dance and how my eyes are like magnents that attract so easily and how my finger nails grow quickly even when I bite them and how I'm quick with my words, have a razor sharp tounge. I love my ambition and my heart. I love how I am not evil but sometimes pretend. I love how when I swing at a park I am 6 years old and 6 feet tall and when I close my eyes my feet almost touch a cloud. I love how it feels when I turn golden and shimmery in the sunlight, and sometimes in the moonlight too. I love that I have people who never stop loving and supporting me. I love how I steal covers while I sleep and how I can devour four books in a day. I love how I take on a new city. I love how I love cheese. Mostly I love how I sparkle.

Truth (Pt 2 of 6 in "Healing Series")

Truth is best written as an essay. I can let words flow like the faucet I leave on while I brush my teeth, the one you'd turn off so I wouldn't waste water. I hope in this moment I am vulnerable enough for the truth. Perhaps I am physically, I'd be naked but for the towel wrapped around my wet body. 


Pang - I bought this towel for you. 


I don't feel angry or sadness or highly volatile emotions regularly. Nor do I miss you or think fondly of our old times all that often. It happens as pangs - painful snippets of memory disguised as brokenness. Emotions that I've spent a year stuffing deep into whatever crevices I could find inside me. Anywhere but my heart, I'd think.  Anywhere but my heart, I tucked.


I would go days without feeling anything. "I'm back to my former robot self," I used to joke. I laughed but it was not funny. 


The truth is I have spent so much of the last year hating you. In truth I have spent so much of the last year loving you. When we don't speak, it's easy to see you as a monster. Every small detail about your life that falls into my lap feels like a personal attack. Every warning that you might be at the same event, a grenade. All I could do was walk away or wait for the explosion.


I have held onto this anger so long because I have been afraid to heal. If I heal, I might love again. If I love again, I could get hurt again. But truth be told, I have to forgive you, I have to forgive myself, and I have to move forward. I have every right to be afraid of love but I cannot let that fear debilitate me.


You are worthy of forgiveness. I am worthy of love. One day I will feel gratitude for having had you in my life, even for the tough times it involved.  These are my most important truths. I think, one day soon, I may even start to believe them.


Choices (Pt 1 of 6 in "Healing Series")

Numb is easy

Healing is hard

Requires strength




Love for self

Care for Self

Belief in



Requires mostly


And Alcohol

Some Strangers

Many Strangers?

Frequent Testing

Blurred parties

And a little

Slow dancing,

Self Shame,

Self Hate,

Hardly recognize



May require


That does not lead

To anything,


For all things

Felt wronged,

Gratitude for

Love and pain,

Experiences gained.

Healing requires


Your truth,

Fully admitted to


My Apology

I would have

reached out by now,

Have wanted to

On several occasions

Once to yell

Another time

I imagined

Running into you

On the street

Punching you

One good time

Right in the throat.

I’ve wanted to

Talk (and punch)

Because I need you to know

How undeserving you are,

How undeserving

You must have always been

How stupid

I feel for giving

A(nother) chance

At Love

At Friendship

At Casual Sex,

How wrong I was

The night I told you

That we could

End up together,

For letting me

Let you

manipulate me



Did you ever feel

like a bad guy?

Do you enjoy it?

You must. 

Good people

who do bad things


I have yet

to receive

My fucking apology.

Is that silly?

After all the bullshit 

Emotional swan dives

Spurred by selfish letters

Slipped under doors

2 hour and 20 minute

Respective breakups

Friends and

Panties stolen

All I want is

My fucking apology.

For how selfish

You’ve been

The past

5 years of our life


The last 12 months

When nothing mattered but 

You "finding yourself” and

Trying not to become your father

Just one little tiny

Fucking apology

To let me know

You wake up feeling 

Like the piece of trash

I believe you to be

Like the bandit 

You quickly became

Like the bully 

To my battered heart


You remember my heart?

The one you built up

For years

Told was strong

Need not be afraid,

All the notes

“Love you forever and always”

“Yours for as long as you’ll have me”

“One true love”

“Never let you go.”

I am clearly foolish

exceeding naive

But mostly angry


I hate you

For tricking me

I hate me

For letting myself

be tricked


I hope you find happiness

That's later

ripped away

Leaving you cold

And numb.

When it happens

I hope you think of me

And realize this is 


For hurting me

Three times





And most importantly

For never giving me

The least that I deserve

And am still waiting for:

My fucking apology. 


you can't stand to be forgotten

faded ghost in tattered photos

image gray, translucent body

idle haunting, life bemoaned


you can't stand to be forgotten

anger fading, stints of joy

future hopeful, defense dropping

carefree living, blithe alone


They were her words but my truth

mouth covered red, eyes smudged

black from haphearted sweeps of my arm.

I stand naked and bloody

but golden and tall

hair free, natural and wild

larger than life

like a wolf or lion.

Back straight

chin up

eyes dancing with fire.


For his latest crimes

he begged forgiveness

desperate ask of re-entry

into body and life.


Her words echoed through me

danced around me like a chant.

I started again

devouring the beating organ in hand

ripped bloody and raw from open chest.

Still glowing, I continued

head heavy with pride

body and soul fueled with hate fire.


"We would, sooner eat our own hearts,"

she had said, "than give ourselves again."

How to "Parent Trap" Characters in a Story

I'm working on a new story for a big idea I'm building out. Here is a sneak peek!


Young Yasmine met Munir on the first day of spring. She remembered it because it was the day all of the water lilies bloomed, spreading their vibrant orange petals in a smile and emitting a citrus like fragrance. The whole seafaring town smelled of mandarin. Munir had been writing by Diagma, the old cliff peak named for a goddess Yasmine knew little about.

Yasmine watched him curiously. She had walked up cliff wearing a flowing gown, olive green like her eyes. Her long brown hair was windblown and her cheeks rosy against her golden hued skin. She kicked off her brown flats, let her bare feet touch the dusty ground, and made her way towards the stone table where Munir sat scribbling away. He didn’t notice her at first. He was consumed with the story in his head. He desperately needed concentration to put the words on paper before the inspiration that struck him escaped grasp, retreated over the cliff, and tumbled into the storming waters of the sea below.

Yasmine did not announce herself. There was something in Munir’s eyes that told her he was fixated, not to be disturbed. She examined his face. There was a radiance about him. Perhaps it was the stark contrast of his white blouse against brown skin. Or perhaps it was the pops of gold in his eyes that gave him a warm, sturdy look. One thing was quite certain that warm spring day. More certain than the air smelling of citrus or the promise of the ocean’s fierce pound against the rocky cliff was the fact that Yasmine was unwittingly in love with this unknown boy.

Lost in thought, Yasmine wandered over towards the cliff’s edge and sat cross-legged by a bed of flowers. Water lilies usually grew, as named, nearer to water. Yet here on the edge of the cliff was a small patch of orange lilies, shouting hello to the world for the first time this season. Yasmine smiled and hummed a gentle tune as she surveyed the delicate flowers.

The sound of Yasmine’s hum awakened Munir from his trance, and for the first time all afternoon he realized that he was not alone. She looked like a goddess, he thought, as he closed his notebook, eyes locked on the beauty in green humming to wind. Her hair moved with her song, gently swaying to her notes. Her lips were rose, and her eyes a golden green, like light emerald held to the sunlight. Munir knew nothing of this girl, not her name, not her family, not why she choose to hum on this wind blown day, but he did know, quite suddenly that he was, very much so, in love with her.