will we be breathing in the same sun again?
i have so much to say but it comes out wrong. ten summers passed and i can still see those plants reaching for the sun.
young and messy in grayscale sheets.
will we see another spring?
i wrote a story that i'm afraid to read. my hands shake too much to turn the pages. water washing through my life.
string lights on the bedpost guide me through memories.
muddy pieces stuck together and blurred lines that i can't make out.
behind my eyes i know you wanted
what was out of reach. pin up my arms and legs
because i don't know how to do any of this without you.