Dead flowers in the empty wine bottle
I chugged last week.
It was a Thursday, nothing special,
but I was glowing.
Cheeks vibrant with a buzzed rose.
Eyes half closed, but who cares?
I’m living.

Living in the moment,
spinning on the hardwood floor.
A place where I once sobbed
over things that I still can’t wrap my brain around.
The floorboards can still feel my pain,
but tonight I dance to their creaks.
I’m living.

Remember when I lost my grip a year and a half ago?
I was my own best friend and
emptiness was my favorite feeling.
But I can’t seem to keep hold of everything at once.
It’s either me,
or it’s you.

Like the flowers in the wine bottle,
I can’t keep watering something that’s dead,
when all I want to do is keep touching, feeling, growing.

Don’t pull my roots tighter to the soil
once I’m finally living.