out of your fingertips it flows the dark blue river to swallow the sun and destroy the paper towns you could never bond with the simplicity of things, neither with the universe nor with yourself so you try to let the flood decide over what‘s going to vanish and what‘s going to stay
Waiting for a response Always longer than expected Where truth is revealed Intrinsically and painfully Even blissfully is my wait Yet sometimes it snaps Like my patience.
In the cold, dark of January, I remembered you the most. As the chill snapped bones like branches, as the afternoons bathed themselves in gray, as the birds and the backs shook, so did my lips around your name. I'm so happy January is almost over now.