His heart does not belong to you. He is a poet.
Don't you know they only love words?
Love, yes love, he lives and breathes and writes love letters
About your brown hair around your neck, and the gold he found in your eyes.
Maybe the way you smile more with one side
Or other things, perhaps, about you he believes he loves.
But it's not you he loves, and you must realize this now.
He only loves words. He is a poet. He only loves words.
He's not looking for any heaven he can spend with you
Because he's already found it in that cup of tea he sipped
At the coffee shop around the block
Where he sat, and listened, and watched, and thought
Of the words he loves more than you.

He's a California hurricane.
The sunset over Venice Beach.
He's the lights of Los Angeles,
The summer sun
And the gentle rains that blow across to Arizona.
He doesn't need coffee he just wakes to the breeze coming his way.
He's an earthquake and a soda, a busy freeway after morning yoga.
He's 40 million people laughing and crying and building and dreaming all at once.
And he's all mine.

I loved the scars on his hands
From when he baptized himself in a pile of dirt on a playground.
Reaching before knowing, like he always did.
Once grabbing hold of me
And I loved him.
His eyes may not have been beautiful, but his soul was.
Like that same boy who dove headfirst into the dirt his spirit shone through his crooked smile
And lanky gait.
It was love because I could see his heart,
It hurt because he stole mine.
Out of my hands rough and calloused from testing before reaching
And my chest fresh from being freezer-packed for years.
It was love because it tested boundaries that didn't exist until we found them
I know it was love.
I hope it was love.

May I please be honest?
Just, for once today, tell the truth
About something that means nothing
To absolutely everyone reading this.
It's just one, single, honest statement.
From me to you.
That you can trust with all your heart
And that I can put all of my spirit into
Because I know it won't ever betray me.
I just want to be real.
To make it known that I'm capable
Of honesty.
Here goes.
I hate the cold. It gives me headaches.
And makes me lonely.

It hurts when Love has passed us by, it hurts our gentle souls.

When our hands reach for another's grasp it hurts to end up cold.

It hurts to know you love someone and know they're good and gone.

To lay awake with memories that never last too long.

To know you've met the one for you and know they do not care;

To wish beyond the realms of life that when you awake they're there;

To feel your heart leaving your chest; to know each of your tears;

To feel inside your back and front a thousand stabbing spears.

What hurts the most is wishing you'd never been left alone.

To have a friend you could call who would always pick up the phone,

To have that chunk ripped out your heart, to feel the missing piece

And every time you take a breath your breathing seems to cease.

No amount of fake, forced laughs or auto-tuned hoorays

Could make up for the happiness you once felt in his gaze.

Do you even know what I would say
If every word became a flower?
My dear I'd have a rosebush to give to you.
Roses of every color.
Red for the I love yous
Yellow for the jokes, even the ones that were only funny because you said them.
Especially those ones.
Pink for all the honesty we shared:
About our future,
What we wanted,
What we thought.
White, though, for the perfect moments when we lay side-by-side
And told each other things no one else ever knew.
And learned things about ourselves we never imagined were possible.
Every feeling would sit safely in the leaves:
Our hands touched,
Our eyes met,
Our hearts beat together for the first time.
The flowers would be worth the thorns...
The tears.
Their beauty worth the pain.
And I promise our roses will never die.

If I were to become a cynic.
Which I'm not saying I am,
Nor am I admitting I'm not,
It would be because of the way you smile
In every direction
Until
Your eyes meet mine.
And do I believe in living?
Or science?
If so, then tell me why,
My life starts with your frown
And there's no chemistry to properly and mathematically explain
How my heart could possibly skip a beat
And my lungs could forget how to work
Every time you find yourself
Near me.

If I were an optimist,
Which I'm not saying I am
Nor am I admitting I'm not
It would be during the times I find myself
On my knees praying
That you'll walk by me and stop.
Speak.
Listen.
Love.
And pray with me.

If I were yours,
Which I'm not saying I am
Nor am I admitting I'm not.
I would love you with a love so infinite
Unbreakable, fiesty, loud, passionate, and changing
That you wouldn't be able to breathe.
And if I believed in love, if I felt love was worth the risk,
Would you?
Do I believe in sacrifice?
Do I believe in the weight of the world, Atlas' shoulders, the music in the air?
If I did, how could it possibly explain
This out of breath, tear stained face I have to carry with me
Everywhere I go.

I don't know any weak men, only boys.
Which is okay to be. But nothing to aspire to.
My preference is men. Men who need no one.
Men who don't love.
Love is for boys. Love is for girls.
On playgrounds, playing Mom and Dad
And lasting as long as Mom and Dad.
Men and women like. And want.
And when they must love, they lust
In the most passionate display of love Hollywood has ever
Been privileged not to destroy
With a *** domain name.
Men are boys who grow up and adjust to the needs
Of themselves as men who were once boys.
And let life direct them towards what they can become.
And then become it.
Men rise to the challenge while boys challenge it.
And while they are punched and beaten
Blood will not slow them down.
Men are not weak. Neither are boys.
But boys are not men. And boys are not for me.

I’m broken and I’m falling.
Not even sure where from.
Right now my heart is beating
Because no end has come
I’m waiting for the ending
Still watching for the sign
When I hit the ground
It’ll hit that you’re not mine.
I’m falling and I caused it.
No one pushed me off this ledge
I knew no one would catch me
I just aimed to hit the hedge.
I fell and now I'm breaking
It's no one's fault but mine
And like this broken record
I'll hit the ground and I'll be fine.

I have three favorite things:
Coffee.
Whiskey.
The southwestern sun beating down on my bare shoulders.
And if one day I leave here
Don't let me forget to take the sun
And wash it in my sink.
So it shines brighter and brand new
On every cactus in the Sonoran Desert.
So it reaches all the way to Washington D.C.
One day while I'm reporting
About monkeys in suits running the playground
I'll feel it.
Take off my blazer and let that southwestern sun burn me red.
Then I'll go home.
Put some whiskey in my coffee.
And I'll be happy.

I am made up of an entire soul
Completely furnished with potential and with life.
That can love with a love that love has not imagined.
And I have thoughts that rage on like the rain beats against a window in the dead of February.
As the rain greets the Valentine's on their way to their nights I listen to my heart
Beat.
Beat.
Beat against my chest.
The strings of the violin I left at the church play on and on like a love song barely out of tune.
As the G and the D and the A and the E tell me to go
From the church that's too far for me to visit after so much wine.
I might sleep.
I might do a lot of things.
I might even write poetry.
But one thing I'll certainly do is love
with a love that love cannot even fathom.
And my heart may beat out of my chest.
And my lungs may collapse.
But I will love
until my heartstrings tear apart with yearning.
And then I'll drink more wine and pretend.
I don't love anything at all when we all know
That's just not true.

You didn't leave me
but you let me go.
Now here I am wanting to take back time
And you don't even know.
I need to tell you
but you won't talk to me
You're too busy to take the time
To watch what you should be able to see.
It's me holding a sign
It says I Still Love You
I would do anything for you
And I wish you knew.

Maybe this whole book was given
For starting over.
The same chapter written twice.
Or three times.
Or four.
First in pencil for erasing,
But that weakened the page
And it became sensitive.
So in pen. Crossed out and scarred
Printed and indented into every line.
Infinite directions multiplied by infinite interpretations.
They met, but why?
They wrote, unanswered.
Once or twice. But sometimes called and answered.
Yearned for the alternate ending
Of which reality lacks.
This book is made for starting over and dwelling
In chapters already written
But lacking romantic perfection.

"Do I love her?"
He laughed
As if you'd just asked the bird soaring above your head
If it was flying.

"The sun rises
At the sound of her voice.
The whisper of good morning hiding
Beneath the covers."

"And sets,"
He said,
"When her eyelids close, and I can no longer see
Her smirk shining through the starlight."

"I do not love her."
He sighed
He bellowed.
"I need her."

She always looked so tired
Like her green eyes hated to stay open
And her neck couldn't hold her head up;
Not with all of her thoughts going like racehorses down a track.
I loved the way she trudged this way and that
And how every breath she breathed was deliberate and thoughtful,
She planned each step and blink as if it was her last
That's the way it seemed.
Except when she felt the words moving through her
In a song
Or a poem
Or a story
And her neck would strain to feel it like a cool breeze on a hot day
Her eyes would open and refuse to close
Hoping it was the last sight they ever saw.
Her tired, trudging breath and feet turned into springs and she swayed
With the music of the words she felt inside of her.
And I loved her for it.
And for everything else.

I would have asked you to sit with me,
But the truth is I prefer my own company.
It's certainly no reflection on the faux concern you tend to display
For the bags under my eyes
Delivered with as much subtlety as a musical theater major
Hinting at their next performance.
All while your face is glazed over checking your updates.
Mentally and physically in another world.
Yet politely trying.
I spent the past four hours talking to people
But not seeing them.
My sprained ankle suffocating inside my no slip shoes
Bending and breaking under the pressure of each turn and step
Right now all I want to do is rest it and watch people
While the October breeze blows my hair over my face.
So sorry you didn't get the invite.
But maybe next time.

Because there's no silence in my world
Or peace,
It does not stop here.
The noise, drops of rain and
Screeching tires,
So visibly loud
I can't sleep in my own bed,
Do not
Stop
Growing
Living
Existing,
Here.

Maybe
It's the 6th cup of coffee
I drank at four this afternoon.
The diet coke I bottled and sipped throughout the night.
Or the fact that I haven't eaten in two days.
But I haven't missed a single second these two days
Without the thought of you sprinting through my mind
And dropping my heart into my lungs.
And let me tell you,
It feels kinda nice.

For what it's worth it wasn't worth it.
I gambled with my pain.
What's worse I threw your feelings in
and lost more than my gain.
I was secure and happy
Now I'm closed and obsolete.
I thought I'd trust some handsome fool
Who then kicked me to the street.
I dragged your heart into this mess
In one day I lost you too
for someone who was shinier
who glittered like brand new.
And now my heart is broken
Handled one too many times
By people who couldn't give a ****
I was pennies to their dimes.
So for that I say I'm sorry
If I could take it back I would
Of all that came from this mess
Not a single thing was good.
If I could see you one more time
I'd tell you straight and true
That he may have been adventure
But home is always you.

Sometimes late at night when I can't sleep, which is more often than I can, I daydream about princes and flowers, shiny things and comfort. I over complicate things that have simple explanations, and brush off things that need my utmost attention. I think about rain and snow that I never see, and dream about dust blowing at my face and the feeling of concrete sun burning my feet at noon. I think about all the moments of the day I forget about, like walking to class and shading my eyes from the sky, and I remember how beautiful it is. And I wonder why I lay awake in my bed thinking about princes and flowers and shiny things when I have the sun at my back, the grass between my toes and the world at my fingertips.

She can only say I love you so many times before
The words mean nothing anymore.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love.
I love.
I love.
I.
I.
I.
.
.
.
Meaningless.
Who feels love anymore?
She asks after one cider too many wrapped in a Christmas sweater.
Telling herself it’s barely November.
You’re a loser.
You’re a loser.
You’re a loser.
a loser.
a loser.
a loser.
loser.
loser.
loser.
Some words sting harder in college than middle school ever made them feel.
And some words linger longer than high school lasts.
*****.
Loveless.
Loose.
She starts another cider.
Pathetic.
Hated.
Failure.
Awkward.
And how about some wine now?
Wine?
Whine.
Win?
Gin.
Drink?
Drink.
It’s time to change herself
She decides this and it is.
And it always will be.
It is law.
It is law.
It is Law.
It is.
It is.
It is.
It.
It.
It.
Is the start of yet another person
With the same eyes but different hair
A different voice.
A new person.
A new person.
A new person.
Person.
Person.
Woman.
With value. Intelligence. Beauty. Grace.
Silence. Voice. Love.
January will be a new start.

This isn't Paris, there are no lights here
But the stars that sit vulnerably above the dark streets at night.
Reflecting on the drops of rain that fall with no order filling the potholes and cooling the air.
Even the desert gets cold in December, and the cold makes everyone feel lonely.
So here's to the bowl of glitter on my desk.
The letters written that will never be sent.
The twin sized bed unkempt and cold by the window
And the lights that stopped working weeks ago.
To scarves that warm necks and hats that warm heads
While there's nothing to keep my heart from nervously pounding every time the dog barks at night.
Here's to coffee tasting and wrestling over the last brownie,
Friends that become lovers and lovers that stay friends.
The lamplight is dim but it's there all the same
And as long as my shivering hands can type I'll be writing these letters I'll never send.

If she could grow up to be anything in the world,
She'd be the last thought on his mind before he falls asleep at night.
Or maybe the last person he danced with to the sounds of the winter evening.
Hers would be the last lips his taste,
The last goodnight he whispers as she drifts to sleep on his chest,
The last hand he holds onto
She'd be his last first date, his last first kiss, his last first dance
The last, greatest love of his life.
If she could grow up to be anything in the world,
She'd be his last choice.

He's a writer for sure
Every ounce of him.
That's why he stopped
Drinking wine,
Except for Wednesdays
Of course.
He has a taste for
Cigarettes and the hard stuff.
The stuff that's going
To make him forget
About all the things
He's going to write about in the morning.
But really,
How could he forget
Every single moment
Of his entire life.
He's not arrogant
But **** the devil if he's humble.
No, he's just used to
Being kicked in the face.
And he's good at it.
So why stop now?
Every morning is a hangover
And every night
Is another reason
To write down everything
Because **** everyone
Who tells him no
He's too **** good at it.
Let's drink to that tonight.

If you don't buy me some wine
Then I'm just going to take shots of that **** ***** my cousin bought me
Alone in my room
Until I forget about this week
And finally get some sleep.
You know what...
I'll do that anyways.
Wine or no wine
Today is the day to start
Drinking again.
And making mistakes I can blame on something other than myself.

I exist, I swear
Don't forget me please.
I know it can be hard sometimes
But let yourself believe.
You remember me with sadness
But I swear, that wasn't me
You forget that in the darkness
I was the light upon your feet.
You remember that sea of fear
You forgot, I was your sail.
You remember not what I've won for you
But what happens when others fail.
Please don't close your heart to me
I'm so sorry you've been lost.
When you need me to carry you through this
I'll be here at no cost.
Don't doubt that I exist for you,
You'll get hurt, but that's alright
I can wrap you close, inside my arms
I'll protect you from the fight.
Come to me and I'll redeem you
And you'll give me so much more.
You'll never feel alone again
I'm what you've been searching for.

Our hearts don't break
For lack of love.

Plenty of people do not love me,
And I lose no sleep.

Perhaps your heart breaks for those who do not love you.
But mine,
Mine,
Mine.
Breaks into pieces every time I realize that
Love is not enough.

He was writing the greatest love letter of all time
Because, he said, it was about the greatest woman to walk the Earth
And how she single-handedly melted the world and buckled knees with her stare.
Had a smile that made you feel things with senses you couldn't begin to understand.
He was writing her a love letter with words
That were the most horribly inadequate words to describe her.
Words like beautiful, special, life-changing, perfect.
The love letter he would never finish because of her brilliance.
A love letter thrown away when he saw her holding hands with a man.
And replaced with tears and floral arrangements.
The greatest love note ever written became his entire life
Left in a box
Six feet underground.

I once stumbled upon a great beast of a tree
And I thought how like it is a man in this world.
From a seed this great tree grew from the ground
And his arms stretched where they once timidly curled.
I thought to myself how man is strong when storms blow his way
But, without nourishment, would shrivel to no more.
Like this great beast Man stands strong, protects and shades
Even when Man knows not what for.
Man's roots, his core, rely on the soil from which he grew
And to these things Man clings for life
A good man finds love in his mother and father
Or, if he's lucky, in the woman he calls wife.
A man is like a tree in the way that he stands tall
Even when everything around him slowly dies one-by-one
The might of a man can bring some to their knees
To some, he shines brighter than the summer sun.
A man is like a tree in the way that he is strong when he needs to be
Yet he knows when life is trying to make him drown
But often, though he stands and withers away
A man will not fall down.

Once said that he was baffled
Yes, flabbergasted,
that in the 6000 years of human existence
In the 6000 years of exorcisms
Crucifixions
******
Bombings
Shootings
Lying
Stealing
K­indness
Love
Mercy
Forgiveness
No one ever prayed for the one
Who needed prayers to most.

Maybe it's over for me
Because the silence is finally deafening.
The tea is cold, the hands are empty
My solitude forever is ending.
Maybe I know who I am now
That's why I'm no longer searching
The Angel on my shoulder once pondered
Now he's stuck skulking and lurching.
Maybe it's time to reach out
For a hand to partner with mine
And even if I come back empty
I've been there before, I'll be fine.
Maybe I'm done being lonely
I'm not as good company anymore
It's perhaps time to lock the window
And walk out the now opened door.

I got this idea in my mind
That the moon hangs right up above your head
And the stars **** through your eyes.
So when you're not there, the sky turns dark and lonely
And not even a strong cup of coffee can wake my sleeping heart.
So I guess what I'd like to say is
Don't go anywhere for a long, long time.

I am not beautiful. Just simple.
Made plainly of laughter and tears.
I wear knit sweaters in the snow
Shorts in the heat
And a dress to church on Sundays.
I have no battle scars
I bear no cross
I am basic and mild.
But you are a hurricane
On the most beautiful beach I've ever seen.

My body doesn't work how it's supposed to
(as if there's a way it's supposed to)
(as if there's anything I can do about it.)

Every morning and every night
I take my handful of vitamins
Mix my herbs with scalding hot water
Empty of myself, I fill with what I should be
(According to those who aren't me.)

I spent decades cultivating myself
I was loud
Educated
A good friend
Generous
Funny
Quick to laugh

And isn't it ******
So egregiously unfair
That there is no room in my garden for all that
And what I'm supposed to be
(as if there's a way I'm supposed to be).

All because my body doesn't work how it's supposed to
(as if there's a way that it's supposed to).

Never explain except for in love.
When you explain why you feel the need to exaggerate everything that makes you unique
And challenge those who challenge you. Fight those who beat you. Conquer those below you.
When you stand alone in front of the one and say I Am Who I Was Made To Be.
And perhaps explain who you are.
Why you're weird, grotesque, mature, immature, laugh, smile, cry, dream, write.
And that some people watch, some read, some write, some frown, some
Take the time to grow into cases the world lacks the capacity to withstand.
And maybe explain why you're content with this mediocrity that is laughing at yourself.
Singing loudly to empty rooms in a dark house with an off-pitch voice.
Walking the silent, cold streets with your head down arms closed around your chest.
Never excuse yourself for this.
Only explain that this is who you are and no person of worth can take that away.
And no person of worth will take that away.
They will embrace the surprises and the emotions and love.
Without needing an explanation.

I was just wondering.
If I stay the night,
Will you still be here tomorrow?
Because there's not enough of my heart left,
For it to break one more time.

He used to walk with his head down,
Eyes on the ground sheltered by black lenses
Brick walls covering the window to his soul.
He barely even walked,
trudged really.
Like he was making his way through a swamp of ***** things
Things he wanted nothing to do with.
He deafened himself with his music
So he couldn't even hear the filthy creatures that taunted him.
Tennis shoes or moccasins, didn't really matter,
He moved them one at a time, step-by-step,
Carefully choosing the route that would leave him most alone,
So he could wonder to himself why no one loved him.
I've never seen his eyes, but I've looked into his soul
And though he's never spoken a word to me
I understand his heart.
He's let it be so, that people can see,
That he maims himself out of love
And though he is still blinded by walls,
And deafened by music
He now walks with his arms open, his head up,
His heart vulnerable.
He is a book you have to take from the shelf and open for yourself.
No cover art, no summary on the back,
But the greatest book you will ever read
Nonetheless

It is nonsense to think
That reason
Has little to do with loving a person.
But it is far more nonsensical
To abandon love
Because logic and reason
Because any logic
For any reason
Told you so.

She wanted him.

Not the him who calls after midnight
from a diner off the freeway
Because he doesn't work for another 12 hours and if she wants to have dinner with him this week
she'll come

But the him who drinks coffee with her in the morning before work
after their alarm told them
they'd slept tangled in each other,
again.

Her name was Margot and she was followed by a band of faceless nothings.
Only bodies with heads and mouths that sang dreamy, sad songs into a can on a string.
Wandering the earth hoping to hear back that nothing is lost
Nothing is lost.
Go back to sleep darlings nothing is lost.

We're not soulmates
I'm pretty sure.
Not meant to be
Not meant to hold
Not meant to love each other.
But that can't stop me from dreaming
Of dancing with you
To Ray Lamontagne songs in the moonlight
And growing old with your hand in mind.
We're not soulmates,
I'm pretty sure,
But that won't stop me from loving you
With everything I am.

You are a rainstorm in an Arizona summer.
I don't know whether I should hide
Or bathe in you.

I imagine he's in a graveyard
He's beckoning me in.
I see his warm, sweet smile
And I question what's a sin.
He's playing in the bones I see
Among what we've found lost.
I want so much to join him.
I'm weighing what's the cost.
Mom said he'd be in sunshine
I'd find him in better days.
In the springtime I look around me
In the winter I just pray.
My friends say he's inside of me
But they don't really know.
I can't even picture who he is
To the graves I have to go.
Some said I'd find him in first love
I'd find him and so much more.
Love left me cold and broken
I forgot then what life was for.
He's waiting in the graveyard
I know that's where he'll be.
All my life I've looked for him
As I'm sure he's looked for me.
There are so many people on the Earth.
Some he looks for in the rain
For some he looks in sunshine
For me he looks in pain.
I'll find him in a rope and chair
Or maybe in a lake.
When you have nothing left to lose
You have everything at stake.
I'm betting on the graveyard.
I have nowhere else to go.
The outside voices don't understand
They have what I don't know.
This is my goodbye for now
This is how I pay my toll
To find the happiness I never knew.
This bullet through my soul.
I'll see you in the graveyard
That's where my sun does shine.
I'll find him waiting there for me.
In a grave marked only mine.

I'd like to think that one day you and I
Could sip tea out of mason jars in my backyard
Under the light of the stars
Just enjoying being in each other's company.
All we have to do is listen to the acoustic beat of the night air
The tap tap tap of feet walking down the street
Or the howling of the police siren as it blares through my town.
Our town, I suppose.
Cause see I've got this patio, and this little gate that barely swings open
And a bunch of chairs I can't occupy by myself.
And you've got that guitar and that smooth voice.
The eyes that won't quit and the laugh that means something else.
You don't even have to dance with me,
I'd just like to sit with you. If you'd take my company.
I would love to watch you hang the moon.

The crew sat silently in a room with blank walls and one television playing football.
While on the other side of the universe their spouses lounged in a beige wonderland.
Who would have imagined one day the screaming would lead to betrayal of the one sense that does not exist.
She got stitches on her soul where he tore her apart, he used scissors to cut them open.
But who stands on a pedestal and lets their heart bleed out all the words they long to say?
But who cuts themselves open with a rusty knife infected with the pain of all the others,
Just to say they did it for you.
She instead watched from this beige wonderland, lounging and laughing
Her heart shrink down to the size of his. To become a pebble. Hard as a rock, small as a fly.
Crying tears to narrate the nights when even one feeling was too much for her.

Dogs say nothing
Of the nine lives of cats.
Cats only whine for food and for sleep.

Sometimes I feel like a participation trophy.
Congrats, you did it.
Here's to commemorate your dedication
Now goodbye, go do something better with your time
Earn something you're not afraid to show off
That's worth more than this five cents of plastic
Unless, of course, you're not good at anything
In which case look, everyone, at my trophy.
I participated in something
That took more effort than eating food or breathing
I showed up sometimes
And did some stuff
And I got this trophy I can put on my top shelf
So everyone can see it's a trophy,
But no one knows I barely earned it.
Not that anyone cares anyway

The magic inside of him is too powerful for her eyes to witness
Naked and innocent as they are.
There's a way his soul grinds and chafes against thoughts as they lay unprepared
That gets tested by question without answers and people without petitions.
There is no one path.
There is a single door locked fourteen times leading to a narrow, dry valley.
Deeper than the sea, lined with dust and maggots
He once crouched hysterically digging and clawing at the earth
In search of a power to great for a single body of flesh to inhabit.
Comfortably.

A storm to a ship is both a marvelous adventure and a cruel end of times.
And she, still six feet under, staring through the watery mirror, does not control the ocean.
But he, with his magic, shakes the earth miles beneath the surface and throws the ship to the tide.
She watches him soar with love in his eyes and believes he's passionately and desperately searching for her
With her stitched up soul and the words hanging grossly from her lips.
Hope falters as the ship sinks and he laughs.

The words jumped her barbed wire lips and were mangled in the most grotesque and unimaginable way
Escaping restriction to find themselves mangled, left inside out hanging by their own tongues
Off the edge of sanity dripping into forever.
Dipping a toe into the beautiful sorrow that is memory
Tears taste like wine and gin. Words smell like hangovers and violins.
Hearts ache like muscles sore from stretching for so long without use.
And Sundays like porcelain and donuts.