My words are all forced and my heart is all scrunched, and I find myself resisting the urge to steal phrases from writers who are far better than I ever was.
Times change so rapidly, I could’ve sworn it was just winter. Now the leaves are falling again and it’s starting to get bitter.
I don’t have a coat warm enough to catch me up to the change in temperature. 

How our minds change so slowly to concepts we should’ve grasped so long ago. We hold onto familiarity and watch the roots slow, until we are all so lukewarm, and our attitudes so cold.
I peel apart each layer just to watch the bark grow.
Our imaginations never stop and the possibilities are endless, but we find ourselves infinitely alone when there’s no present body to remedy this.
Hours feel like days, and months are like years, just longing for a soul to listen in on our fears.
There’s nowhere we’d rather be than in the arms of a requited unending love: we say we don’t believe in fairytales but we’re all praying for our own version of one. 

What is life without dreams, what are dreams without scars? 
Who will be there to let me know the tears weren’t wasted at large? 
Where does the road of curiosity end and the path of the contempt complete; 

Do we ever get a hint in on God’s work or is our wondering obsolete?

I’m just resting on Your calls for my wandering, wandering feet.