for a few days every spring flowers bloom and every layer of fog separating my brain from my body and from that the world is lifted and i am worth loving
not a sound escapes his vacuum-sealed-tight lips but he wraps his steady branches of arms around my shivering twigs and he holds me until nature has reclaimed the earth and us with it
we’ve hit every topic: reincarnation, the universe politics, love and all it did was create a void that i’ll never be able to fill. regardless of the amount of poetry i devour or literature i pretend to understand at the end of the day i am just as empty as before reading shakespeare or the brontë sisters