I'm not too good at opening up to people; but I have made a home in you: the crease underneath your shoulder is the only pillow I think I'll ever need, your eyes are the windows in which I wish to see the world through, and the rumble of your laughter is an earthquake that cannot tear these foundations to the ground. Like the weeds in the garden, I am rooted to you. I hope you never dig me out.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
I'm not too good at opening up to people; but I have made a home in you: the crease underneath your shoulder is the only pillow I think I'll ever need, your eyes are the windows in which I wish to see the world through, and the rumble of your laughter is an earthquake that cannot tear these foundations to the ground. Like the weeds in the garden, I am rooted to you. I hope you never dig me out.
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