I keep mashing and reshaping the clay knowing there is only one shape you would call perfect
I love when you say things are perfect
They must of gave way to cordless phones knowing in this exact moment, I’d wring the cord around my neck as tight as possible just to erase this dial tone singing your name
In my imagination we were close as kids
We had some matching scars from different adventures, and I beat the hell out of any boy who ever caused you any pain
In my imagination, you never left me and the pier in PB has our initials carved into it on the farthest to the right pillar where i proposed
How could of anyone known the  shooken bottle was never going to make it to our lips and the line for the anchor would snap
I’m convinced everyone you’ve come across carries a piece of your hair in there pocket colored with different truths
I’m convinced some of my greatest pieces got mistaken for trash and tossed into the incinerator.. maybe they were trash
Can one feel colorblind?
Can deafness knock on doors and inform someone there ears aren’t the problem?
I tossed the book so hard, it came back around and split open my head