You’re a full set of lungs. You’ve got arms long enough to stretch from your back porch to the ocean and brown eyes big enough to hold your abundance of hope.
When I think of you I’m right back to: midnight starry walks in those woods, lucky to be in your light, drunk off my face on that stuff you give off. Lost girl finds a promise somewhere out there of finding herself in the canopy of trees, or the neon moon, or the leaves jumping ship & falling at our feet.
I’m still driving home from that place where everything was both within & out of reach. I’m still wondering what you’re made of. I’m still half thinking that I’ve made you up. I’m still wishing that I had lost my keys in the sand that night.