Cascading somewhere

between the
depths of
reality,

and the skin
beneath your
breast.

Old memories lay dormant
in the spaces
between
my ribs.

What do you do when you miss someone who doesn't want to see you.

Who doesn't want to talk to you.

Who probably never thinks of you.

What do you do when you dream about them,
night after night,
and as a result,

can't stop thinking about them.

How's she's doing?

"It doesn't matter."

Can't stop thinking about
memories.

about the

could be's.
would be's,
should be's.

"She doesn't care."

And yet I still feel a sadness in my chest.

"You miss her."

I miss her.

"You just wish you could see her."

I just want to see her.

"Just once."

I miss her.

Is this the part about heartbreak they don't tell you about?

How sometimes, you actually don't get over it? Ever?

"You would have gotten over it, but you didn't get proper closure."

But it hurts.

"It hurts."

Why does it hurt?

"She was your friend, but you loved her. But she was your friend."

I think it will always hurt, just a little.

"That's okay."

But the dreams,

"They will pass."

But the feeling,

"It wont last."

It's the one that got away.

"She's the one that got away."

Has the air ever tasted like memories to you?

I see you everywhere.

In my dreams, mostly. So stop thinking about me. Please.

I mean they say if you dream of someone, it means they are thinking about you.

Apparently she does this sometimes.

Because sometimes I see her.

Sometimes she tells me she loves me.

Sometimes she is absent.

I don't think I will ever get over H* fully.

But  I keep trying.

I think I see her everywhere.

I wish I could see her just once.

I used to work at Zellers.

Back when that was a thing.

I think I worked there for three years.

And as bitter as I am about not making any real friends there, or not getting invited to Zellers parties because I was the only one who lived across town...

There is one memory that stays with me.

It was a mother and a child.

The mother was always stressed, but the child was so happy. Glowing.

They loved dolls and dresses, and was the cutest and most polite child I met there.

One day, when the mother was checking out, buying some dolls for her child, I looked at them and then at her and said,

"They are so cute."

And she immediately teared up.  She was so overwhelmed that someone might look at a child who is gender non conforming and be okay with it.

She thanked me profusely.

I never saw them again but I hope they are both doing well.

Excuse me while I take a moment to,

to get back into what I used to want to do.

I'm trying to push back the block that is writers block.

And I know this poem *****.

And the reason I'm writing it is to keep myself writing.

These are all just words on a page, a page I used to get no audience out of.

I used to write to myself in secret.

But now that things are getting slightly more public,

I feel like I can't be as open and honest as I once was.

I don't know.

I just want to keep writing.

And writing.

That's all I want to do.

I Still have flashbacks to all of the boomers who told us we would never succeed.

That we would quit.

That we would be a starving artist.

And I mean,

they were right and wrong all at once.

We are all still writing Mr. P.

Or whatever your name was...

Banana Ninja man.

Can you, can you,
keep the devils at bay?

You can't, you can't,
they like to play.

Play with the membranes of your tired mind,
and whisper seductive, tentative lies.

They talk to you like they are your friend.
Yet they feed on your insides, they welcome your end.

Wanting nothing more than to see your undoing.
Giddy with power at this mess they are brewing.

You fight, and you claw, and you bleed through your eyes,
but still they persuade you with lustrous chimes.

You stitch up your mouth, and bleed out the truth.
You've wasted away your eternal youth.

And even if you give into their sin,
They'll just find a different way to begin.

If you keep looking, still you will find,
the devils, the devils, the devils inside.

She looks like a bad idea I'd like to try for one night.

She looks a danger,
she looks a delight.

Dark bar, long legs, open notebook.

I should have seen
what you were doing.

I'm guessing you wanted
me to kiss you.

I would have let you touch my hair,
but you were calling him
daddy.

Maybe we will cross paths again.

Or maybe not, sadly.

Or you might inspire the best
lesbian romance.

Or maybe,

you were just a chance
encounter.

Your move,
artist with sad eyes.

Your move,
towards me, towards sunrise.

Your move,

mystery girl.

It was car rides,

lots of car rides.

Going to school in a small town required a lot of travelling.

She was my best friends big sisters best friend.

And she offered to drive me to school for a semester.

We'll call her D.

D taught me a lot of things that I still remember to this day.

Keep in mind this was almost ten years ago now.

She showed me music,
she kept me in line,
and one day she brought me fresh baked cookies for breakfast.

"Sorry I'm late! I was making you these!!"

Needless to say she was awesome.

But one day, when lamenting about the phantom that haunts this blog,

She told me about the dimmer theory.

Foolishness
can only lead to
more foolishness.

You draw the card of the clown,
the card of the fool,
the jester.

Thinking about things that do not matter.

And dreaming of useless banter.

Fog in the windows,
isn't always romantic.

Hand on hand,
after school hugs,
dancing in rain,
flipping of thugs.

Anonymous locker love notes
you kept in a box,
driving past your house,
and always having to stop.

We rode in a horse drawn carriage
at this time of year.

Autumn will always be close to me,
and make me feel close to you.

You, frequent writer frequent soul.
******* lover ******* roll.

Gentle as the night touches you,
memories upon memories.

The fragmentations of reality and dreamscape blend.

How do I mend.

What was once scratches on paper, becomes public.

What was once teenage hood infatuation becomes stoic.

There are moments I forget who I am,

and then I remember.

I used to write better poetry.

** took that from me when she took my heart.

I feel the fog coming in.

Disassociating, disassociating.

I forget what it feels like to be truly happy.

No, that isn't right...

I forget what it feels like to feel, all right.

100% alright, okay.

It's been a constant battle for the past, forever.

Dealing with the demons at my doorstep.

I get better, I get worse, hit rock bottom, empty purse.

I get worse I get better,

I get numb.

Numb is how I can best describe it.

When I look in the mirror I don't even see me.

I see a skull with baggy eyes.

I see a face without a mind.

I'm not sure which direction I am going in.

I have everything I ever wanted,

more or less.

I have a roof over my head, I have a pet, I have a girl.

Can someone tell my mental health that?

I have finally realized why I have never felt pretty.

It is because, because...

I have dated several people who have called me beautiful.

But I could never understand why they would say that.

I assumed it was a formality.

For years, and years, some people have been attracted to me.

And I didn't know why.

Now that I am finally living in my correct sexuality.

With a fiance soon to be wife.

I am starting to understand.

She calls me beautiful, and pretty.

And doesn't under stand why I don't agree.

And it's because I never see anyone who looks like me.

So mixed, mixed salad.

Darkish skin, asian eyes, trini lips trini hips, white something? I don't know.

I look like nothing anyone has ever known.

My hair is both Trini, white, asian, and whatever else is peppered into who I am.

I am an almost complete puzzle of races.

I think only I can fully grasp that.

Being in my late twenties is not as **** as I thought it would be.

Now I find myself waiting for my thirties.

When I'll be

thirty, flirty, and thriving.

I would at least like to hold on to the last part.

Thriving is what I want to be.

I feel like being in your late twenties is second teenage hood.

You develop new skin problems and need meds, you are also a reckless mess.

But hey at least now you live alone,
at least now you
are grown.

In a sense.

I'll try to enjoy my late twenties.

As my sisters surpass my talents.

Maybe thirty will be my year.

Or 40.

I feel kind of awful and I don't know why.

It's like something isn't sitting right.

My stomach churns but I'm not hungry.

My lungs burn but I'm not burning.

I feel hot, I feel cold, I feel young, I feel old.

Maybe I am just feeling too much.

Maybe I just need a touch.

Maybe I just need a glass of wine.

Then maybe I can tell myself that I am fine.

I don't know.

I don't know.

It's bad either way so I don't know.

I got a mood ring on my finger.

It's telling me that I am cold,
winter.

I decompress, recompose.

Like the green bin I find a new purpose.

Anything to feel like I'm not worthless.

To feel okay.

The though of you tastes like ***** in my throat.

I have been dreaming a lot lately.

I see you, innocent and simple, before you realized what you compromised.

I wonder if I will ever be free.

Free from my memories.

When I think of them I get sick.

That's why I taste *****.

***** at the back of my throat.

I choke.

I remember.

Deception is a beautiful thing.

A power, a grace.

Triggering.  

When I think of those moments, of those months of those years,

Well,

Tears have done me nothing.

Dreams,

They keep coming.  

I know I am a young, I know I am old.

But truth be told,

sometimes I still feel like nothing.

Sometimes I feel like I peaked in my teens.

And then I remember the tears, I remember those knees.

I remember every scar, and every mistake.

And I hate...

And then I forget.

Memory is a silly trait,

Dreams are such a strange state.

All I want is to go on.

Move on.

Why is it so hard for the flower to bloom.

Why does she have to beg for room.

She has already spread her roots, and is fertile with happiness.

How do the weeds not see that?

The weeds, they come. And they disguise themselves.

The appear to be a fellow flower, they are polite, they are safe.

But then when the flowers guard has gone down,

the fellow flower strikes.

Not a **** but a poison.

Leaving the flower trapped.

Shedding a few layers,

to just be left alone.

And then Autumn comes and the flower droops with sorrow.

It feels like nothing,

nothing.

Incredible.

I don't know.

The demon is gone, but I still have to medicate.

The girl is forgotten,

but sometimes I still remember.

But it's okay.

It's like sweet honey on a summer day,

It's like warm hot chocolate on a winter night.

It is spelling everything right.

Do not worry, do not frown.

Because the dead are always around.

Just don't make a sound.

It's okay.

It's okay.

Breathe.

And listen.

I saw your face,

through what felt like a foggy cafe window.

I saw you, and yet you probably don't know.

Every day I hope to run into you.

Even though it's been several years.

I just believe in deserving private closure.

You look the way you used to when I was in love with you.

I wonder if you ever think of me.

Listen, I'm fine don't worry,

um.

I have it figured out don't worry.

um.

I have the support the jury.

um.

I think I am sinking, no worries.

Help, I think I'm stuck on my tongue.

Help, I used to feel old but I'm young.

Help, I once was a child but that's done.

****,

I thought this would be more fun.

****, I'm still feeling old wounds.

****, I still love cartoons.

****, the world is ending,

typhoon.

See you soon.

I used to be scared,

scared of everything.

Maybe it had something to do with being the first born child in a sheltered family.

I never saw anything raunchy until I was on my own.

So I didn't know.

I had to sleep with the lights on and a movie playing for years, for fear of something.

Something I never knew.

But these days,

after the death of a child, I've gone wild.

I want nothing but horror.

I want to gore, the mystery, the blood, the autopsy.

I was everything dark.

I've always thought that I was special.
that I am here for a reason.

I can feel something bubbling inside.

I can feel the ride.

Something wicked this way comes.

Choking,

choking.

Never mind.

I'm okay...

The blue has turned to grey.

There isn't much more to say.

Do you remember those ****** skies.

Do you remember the hellos,
the goodbyes.

Do you remember  
being my first love,

Do you remember the face you made
when I told you the above.

We were smitten then you were gone,
We were right and then we were wrong.

Talent show,
pavement,
basement,
precipitation,

Questions, answers, after school choir,

Hand brush hand, you are a liar.

I know you and you loved me too.

Still I don't know what to do.

You asked me about Sam Mcgee, and how his cotton blooms and blows.

And when I said I wanted you, all you could do was let go.

I'll never forget you, cicada lover.

I'll always remember you.

First loves are hard.

The never really,

go away.

When you realize you are actually pulling off your own skin.

When your teeth fall out.

One by one.

Teeth from gum.

Nightmares can mix into daydreams at any time.

Without a reason, without a rhyme.

My fingers are covered in glue,
I don't know what  to do.

I can live with it, or peel my skin off.

I'm not sure which is worse.

Bleeding to death or forever living with this.

When timelines emerge, danger occurs.

You can't pick a scab and pretend the wound was never there.

I swallow medication with liquor.

Does that defeat the purpose?

Take your medicine,
take your medicine,

take
your
medicine.

Sorry.

It should be simple.

But nothing,

is simple.

Wish I,
could feel better.

Wish I,
had sent that letter.

take your medicine,
take your medicine,
take your clothes off.

I'm kidding.

Cut your shirts till they're dirt.
Cry till you're dry.

But most importantly,

Take your medicine.

I loved you a long time ago,
how are you doing now.

Clouds linger of previous times, previous moments.

Always getting caught in the rain,
but together it was
heven.

We were drenched one time and I got you a towel,
we were caught one time and we were powerful.

You gave up too soon,
my darling.

I told you I would have kids.

As if...

You are now but a memory.

A fragrance I can't grasp.

But...

You will always have a place

in this
heart.

Scratches, scratches at the door,

where am I?

I know the bed, I know the floor.

But I have never been
here before.

I am trapped,
I am guarded.

My nails dig deep into the paint,
aesthetic disregarded.

Help.

Where is my family,

I am alone I am

Dying.

I haven't eaten for days,
it feels.

Oh wait,

My human came home.

She has pets and dinner.

Disregard what I just said.

I tell too many stories.

I give away too many secrets.

My mind is mush, my mind is
mush.

I don't know how long,

how long.

But.

The cloud is big.

The weathermen have been killed.

I take these pills to try and reside
somewhere close to
here.

Sometimes I feel the end is near.

Years go by without warning,
I'm getting older,
I'm getting boring.

Dear someone save our souls.

We're powerless in this world.

Are these the moments that I'll forget tomorrow.

Are these the memories
that will soon bring sorrow.

How do I know when,
I am in the good.

How do I know what I'll feel
a year from now.

It scares me,

as I'm going to bed.

Things will be gone.

Nothing is easy and nothing
is what it's been.

Are these the moments that get buried.

I dreamt of you last night.

Short hair and rosy cheeks.

But you still left me.

God, if that isn't a sign I don't know what is.

Even when I dream of you, you still leave.

She smelled like roses.

No,

something better than that.

I was in love with this girl for a while.

Pining, crying,

the usual.

She was so out of reach and then,

I don't know how but
I got the chance of a life time.

It started with knees.
After an episode or two of orange is the new black.

I realized I couldn't live without trying.

So I touched my knee to hers.

And then....

She was in my bed. And she smelt amazing.

I put my nose between the bra of the girl I had been in love with for most of highschool.

It was

mind blowing.

She smelt like roses,

or,

what you imagine the sweetest smell to be.

I've never smelt anything quite like that.

She smelled like happiness.

I remember putting my face between her *******,
over and on top of,

Just taking it in.

Sometimes I think about whether or not I'm really a lesbian,

and then I remember her.

So thanks, I guess...

You fragile tease.

Also known as,

My first love.

Remember that time I offered you a ride but you said
you already had one
with one of the
guys.

Which is funny because you once said to me,

"I love riding with you,"

Because I sang along to the radio
and danced in my seat.

Do you remember telling me
that I

made a purple sweater and a magenta cap
look beautiful.

Because I remember you taking the time to
message me that.

I remember driving a car illegally,
that is,

without a license
to pick you up at
midnight.

I remember the way you looked at me.

And I remember the way
you treated me
after I became
dead weight.

I remember when you put your hand atop my hand
and
pretended like nothing had happened.

The worst strangers
are the ones
you used to know.

Once we went to the mini houses.

All of the doors were small.

Once we met up at the end of a trail, and there was a bridge that we sat on.

But the tiny village was better.

Tiny doors and tiny lawns.

I don't know if it was the ****.

Tiny houses, tiny problems.

One day I will open the door and be me, that lesbian.

When I was last in Trinidad,

We stayed at our aunts house on the hill.

It was bliss, it was
private.

But our next door neighbours bore a secret.

Within the windows of dancing curtains laid a girl.

A girl I never knew.

From what I heard she was very smart, and talented at chess.

She was a friend of my youngest sister.

But something happened,
the worst.

And she is now bedridden.
I never saw her.

But my youngest sister did.

I can't imagine how much that must have
hurt her.

And yet we all went swimming.

In her pool.

While she laid there,
totally unaware that we were
there.

It was our last night in Trinidad and our uncle came to visit.

We were all hyper fixated on going underwater.

That we all but ignored him.

Yet I have never met this daughter who suffers from something affecting her brain.

She may or may not be still lying there.

Or perhaps she is dead.

Sometimes I realize I am more lucky than I feel.

I'm not sad anymore,
Well maybe
sometimes I am.

I used to cry for you each night.
Wondering what had happened.

I'm not mad anymore,
my anger is through.

I don't cry anymore,
Don't waste my tears on you.

I know it's been a million years,
but for me it seems like yesterday

The tears, the moon, and the rain.

The love and then the hopeless pain.

I'm not heartbroken anymore.

I've served my time.

You were once the reason of rhythm
and reason of rhyme.

But now you're nothing but a ghost.
Or
A host of my memory.

When I was a child, I developed slower than the other girls.

I noticed this and it bothered me.

It was simple things,
like lying about when my period came.

And on my first day of high school
I wore two bras
to compensate for... something.

It wasn't until the second day of high school I realized my uniform shirt was transparent...

That was the closest I had ever been to "stuffing".

Once when I was on a school trip, I had another girl chase me trying to read the size of my bra.

I get it they're small.

I told my mother that I wanted a **** job.
I must have been like 12.

She laughed and told me to ask her again when I was 18,
and to write it down in my diary so we could both look back and share a laugh.

I mean I guess she was right.

They ballooned into 3 times their size, maybe more?
And over the past year they have been here
almost taking over.

And now I find myself in the funny position of wanting to hide them.

Not hide,
but

stow away for later.

When I am out and about I would much prefer to have a flatter figure.

My chest that is.  

Which makes a complete opposite of how I felt growing up, longing for large balloons to make me pretty.

I tried binding for my first time tonight.
But I couldn't breathe very well.
And it wasn't flat enough.

Am I a trick writer?

One of those writers who doesn't make sense.

I call myself a writer through agony,

but am I?

I try to be but I don't try hard enough.

I need to be the kind who finds sunshine and unleashes a dragon of words.

So far all I can do is check the spelling and punc

tuation.

In the theatre,

two years of knowing her.

I was in love,
I was in
love.

She was serious and so delirious,
She got good grades but couldn't tell that I was
crazy for her.

Crazy in love.

And then she started inviting me over,
house of cats and parent's leaving.
I though there may have been a reason.

It took almost five years, but we kissed. I kissed that mistress.

That untouchable soul, the guarded.

It wasn't until she sent me songs that boys sent her.

I only realized that in the future.

Dear H, See how strong your pull is?

It means nothing now.

Just sirens,
in the distance.

Its strange that people
are capable
of storing memories

about you
that you have since forgotten.

I have this one friend who tells me things about myself that I never knew.

Be it a story I told or a joke I pulled.

I was quite the jester.

It weirds me out that there are people who hold memories of me
be it fond be it
friendly.

I made an impact,
somewhere.

At some point in time.

I think he remembers so much about me because we were best friends once.

I feel like I have betrayed a lot of people.

I probably should have known
that something was
wrong.

But I didn't see it.

I was in the eleventh grade, in love with a girl who would never be mine, and figuring **** out.

There was this teacher.

I have no idea what subject he taught I just know I was in his class.

In that class with one of my best friends.

I remember telling her I was gay in that class.

Regardless,

I am pretty sure the teacher had a
thing
for me.

He was one of those,

what do you call it...

"eccentric" teachers.

He was all indie
and didn't give a **** about
what was in.

Including the teeny boppers
who smoked and cussed.

But, he liked me.

And my nonchalant attitude towards school as well as my taste in music.  

I let things happen.

Nothing, too weird.

Just the fact that I folded an origami swan and he kept it all year,
or
the fact that I left his class one day singing Crimson and Clover,
and I came back to a note on my desk from him saying
"Over and Over..."
with clovers drawn on each corner.

Yeah that should have been my first sign.

Later on I'm on "the bench" with the girl I loved, and what does he do but shove his way in between us, and put an arm around us both.

We exchanged panicked glances before this teacher took his chances and
called out to another teacher saying,
and I quote...

"Look! I'm in a chick sandwich!"

And of course, the other teacher nearly gagged before bolting into the principals office.

He didn't speak to me for the rest of the year.

It was only when I graduating and picking up my repot card that I sought him out to say goodbye.

I found him in the tech lab drinking whiskey.

I saw the bottle.

I saw the LCBO bag.

He was drinking and he took one last drag up my body.

What would have happened if I had been even more stupid?
More vulnerable?

In the year book as a joke I listed my secret crush as him.

I thought it was funny.

It was certainly not.

And never will be.

There is a tattoo
of a wolf
on my thigh.

A tattoo I had been planning,
for a long time.

Underneath is not what I would call
bare skin.

It is graced with
and possessed with
scars.

Of one kind.

That kind.

I am grateful that now
when I look down

I am not met with harsh lines,
but instead the eyes
of a kind wolf mother.

She now bares the scars that I carved.

Be kind to yourself,

she says.

This is kind of weird.

What is the intention.

Of all that background noise and memories of boys?

When I was young I though I had to date men.

So I did.  

I mean sort of.

I had a new boyfriend every few months and I am sure as hell not proud of that.

It made me hate myself.

I had a crush on my eight grade french teacher.

To the point that I called her by her name and flirted with her.

When I told my mom that for the first time the other day,

she asked me why I didn't just come out sooner.

I mean...

If only she knew.

What I had to go through,

to be here now.

You see fireworks once
you see fire works a hundred times.

But I still whip around to face my window,
when I hear them.

Coming with passing seasons,
for different reasons.

What was the reason?

Some sort of holiday.

But it makes me wonder,
what exactly
people are celebrating for.

Do they even know?

I think it might just be an excuse for humans to do something that makes them feel happy.

There was one night when things were still bad,

Bad as in
I was still dating a man although I'm a lesbian,
and still not eating properly.

Or,

at all really.

We used to drink the hunger away.

Be it one dollar iced coffees, or a beer.

I knew how to fake it.

If I didn't get what I ordered, the gag reflex kicked in.

He didn't like that.

I shouted at him
that I have
an
eating disorder.

-

Things are better now
I've gained 50 pounds
and I look
healthy.

Except now my family is telling me to lose weight.

It's like I can't win.

I know it shouldn't bother me
but it does.

Would they rather me be on the cusp of death than have me with a pudgy tummy?

My mother told me to lose 20 pounds.

Doesn't she remember when I needed to gain them?

I thought she would be proud.

But,

whatever.

When I step on the scale I smile.

There is a pigeon at my doorstep.

Right outside,
on
the balcony.

I am writing a novel about pigeons.

So I approach.

My girlfriend tells me not to.

My fiancee not my girlfriend.

But I do anyway.

I come almost beak to beak but he fled.

Angry with me.

He is back tonight,

with a girl under his wing.

They have lost their home, maybe children

Or maybe she is about to lay eggs,
pregnant.

In the animal world, they bare babies and that is life.

But in this human world we have a choice.

Or at least,

we should.

I don't often get Political.

But the world is burning.

**** whoever let bills pass that **** woman over a fetus.

Watch them make gays illegal again because

I am

*******,

and bleeding out,

all my "children".

When I was young,

I had my hair done for me.

Ponytails, pigtails, whatever.

And then it being the '90's.

My hair was chopped off due to lice.

I cried, and cried. I was in the second grade.

"I look like my grandma..."

I thought.

Years go by of growing it out.

Boys used to pull on it,
as if
I were a
doorbell.

My hair was long but I did not know what to do with it.

I would spray it with foam, or spritz.

I did whatever I could to it.

I burnt it with a straightener.

I was even silly enough to use a curler on my already naturally curly hair.

Like I said,

I had no idea what I was doing.

Then I chopped it off.

Like it was nothing.

And I didn't care.

It's growing back now.

Almost to my *** which is what I wanted from the start.

Sometimes you have to lose before you gain.

Hair I mean.

It could be fun,

Or it could be
a repeat
of last time.

Boys, cottage, girls, drugs,
me?

The last time I went to a cottage,
I cried until I was taken home.

The time before that, I was with a group of
people and

things,

they weren't great.

I have not been to the cottage
since

2013.

The year things happened.

Maybe this year
I can overcome that
fear.

There are signs of you

all over the home now.

Little memories
and little mementos.

Clues and reminders that you are real
and not
just a
concept.

I cannot wait to meet you,

little one.

I love how nothing changed.

Oop, and then it did.

You're too young for this.

Stop.

Why can't I tell you not to do how I used too.

I had you and then I didn't.

I swear I did my best.

I wish I could protect you forever.

From what?

From men.

I don't want you to get hurt.

You are very smart and I trust you but,

It won't be long.

Stay strong.

Punk rebel daughter.

Drifting off to sleep,

when rain falls like sheep.

Wait, are we sleeping or is it raining.

Caught between dreams, nothing seems,
seems real.

Have you ever been there?

Dreams are more than they seem, I am telling you
from
experience.

Eyes closed, mind faded until you're mind is open and your eyes are faded.

It's only then you have total control.

I'm getting mad and sad all at once.

Is that allowed.

Memory is like a tornado these days.

All I want is a cat.

The sun sets in the east.

and,

the weeping willows are starting to cry.

I drive past flowers, across rivers, across lilies

Nothing will ever be as sweet as you.

Butterfly shoulders and waterfall heart.

It's all in the beginning.