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Mar 2013
I never dreamed of sitting in the meadows that blossom in your chest. I only allowed myself a small window to hope, to wish, to crave. I know now that it was big enough to climb through. We were meant to align, to feel the pull of each other, to recognize the thirst. We are lock and key. We are the lonesome trees, greeting lighting. We are the sound of jars taking their first breath after so long. We. It tastes so soft when I say it, falling out of my mouth like honey vanilla.
HR Beresford
Written by
HR Beresford
565
   lucy anne
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