you think that everything
is under control

that you have planned with care
and great consideration

then suddenly
some miscommunication
plus incidental elements

throw in a solid wrench
that reveals
how fragile
the strands of finely woven plans
will always be

I pull the bottle of the shelf
Covered in dust
I twist off the cap
I pour me a glass
Heres to me
For finally being alone
At last.

I don't share a lot with people. I share a lot with my notebook.

My feelings overflow onto a blank page.

My worst fears tower in the shadow of each letter.

My happiness bounces off every sentence.

And the things I love most stay hidden between the lines.

Crawling into your sheets is comfortable. It's warm. It's safe.

But the earth is not tucked in every night.

The world goes round, and so do we.

Some move slowly; locking eyes with a small crush or quitting a job for something bigger.

And some move fast; stuttering "I love you" to your sweetheart or packing your bags because a better life is elsewhere.  

The earth goes round in a vast sea of unknown, as do we.
But the world keeps spinning, and we keep discovering. Rain or shine, we move.

It's the discomfort that brings comfort.

Paint, dribbling into water - each drop, like ink, bleeding into a haze as a home for the thick bristles of a brush.

A canvas, tones of rosy pinks and deep reds - blending like strawberries and cream. Love.

Fingers, chipped paint under its nails - palms splotched.

I keep smiling down at my brussel sprouts and I think people are noticing.

They said that it would rain today
but for some reason when it didn’t

I was strangely disappointed.
Nevertheless, my jealousy pursued

like a jewel in the nightlight.
Revelling, repulsive, catastrophic.

The earth opened up and all the flowers fell inside.
They mixed with all the tar and soot and rust and then

made us sigh in awe.

In awe of how quickly a tough decision can be made
on our fates.

Suddenly, abruptly, snapping shut, an elastic
band on the door of the future.