i read once that the earth grew oranges
in pairs, so no one would ever have to
sit at a table and eat in the dark.
a small, bright weight in the palm
that says the cold hasn't won yet-
not if there’s still something
this golden to break open.
i heard once that the stars are just oranges
the sky hasn't learned how to peel yet.
a million gold promises
hanging just out of reach,
waiting for someone brave enough
to climb a ladder made of
all the times we almost gave up.
and i didn't find a savior in you;
i just found a girl who
leaves a trail of citrus oil
on every book she touches.
i saw a girl in an oversized shirt
with a smudge on her cheek,
muttering about how she’s a disaster
while she tears into a clementine
like it’s the only thing she’s ever
gotten right.
there is a frantic, quiet beauty in
the way you trip over your own grace.
it’s in the way you think you’re a burden
but you’re actually just the person
who makes the kitchen smell like a grove,
filling the silence with a laugh
that you try to hide behind your hand
because you think it’s too loud for the morning.
i don't want to know a sidewalk
that doesn't have your shadow on it.
i don't want to learn the rhythm
of a Tuesday
where the seat to my right
doesn't sound like laughter and
brilliant thoughts.
i don't want a tournament where
i'm not cheering for your awards.
we aren't a metaphor for being "fixed."
we’re just two people in the middle
of a Tuesday that feels too heavy,
deciding that the gold running down your wrist
is the only thing allowed to leave a mark today.
so stay for the noise.
stay for the sour parts.
stay because i haven't finished
showing you all the songs
you’re going to ruin.
stay because the juice
is the only thing running down our wrists,
and i don't have enough napkins
to clean up a world
that doesn't have you in it.
Mar 28
Mar 28, 2026 at 9:00 PM UTC
i read once that the earth grew oranges
in pairs, so no one would ever have to
sit at a table and eat in the dark.
a small, bright weight in the palm
that says the cold hasn't won yet-
not if there’s still something
this golden to break open.
i heard once that the stars are just oranges
the sky hasn't learned how to peel yet.
a million gold promises
hanging just out of reach,
waiting for someone brave enough
to climb a ladder made of
all the times we almost gave up.
and i didn't find a savior in you;
i just found a girl who
leaves a trail of citrus oil
on every book she touches.
i saw a girl in an oversized shirt
with a smudge on her cheek,
muttering about how she’s a disaster
while she tears into a clementine
like it’s the only thing she’s ever
gotten right.
there is a frantic, quiet beauty in
the way you trip over your own grace.
it’s in the way you think you’re a burden
but you’re actually just the person
who makes the kitchen smell like a grove,
filling the silence with a laugh
that you try to hide behind your hand
because you think it’s too loud for the morning.
i don't want to know a sidewalk
that doesn't have your shadow on it.
i don't want to learn the rhythm
of a Tuesday
where the seat to my right
doesn't sound like laughter and
brilliant thoughts.
i don't want a tournament where
i'm not cheering for your awards.
we aren't a metaphor for being "fixed."
we’re just two people in the middle
of a Tuesday that feels too heavy,
deciding that the gold running down your wrist
is the only thing allowed to leave a mark today.
so stay for the noise.
stay for the sour parts.
stay because i haven't finished
showing you all the songs
you’re going to ruin.
stay because the juice
is the only thing running down our wrists,
and i don't have enough napkins
to clean up a world
that doesn't have you in it.
