Things will never be the exact same way as they were before
and I would like to believe that that is okay
but it hurts too much to hold the thought
I miss her
I wish he would respond to my unanswered texts

these emotions bleed from some of the most deepest parts of me
and I get afraid of the shades they come in
but I welcome them anyway
because I want to honor my midnight black moments like I would my meadow greens and sunflower yellows

I ended seasons with certain people and activities in my life
and sometimes I regret them deeply
I wish I could just text or call
but I know better than to reach out that way
it feels as if it is too late
but the hurt that I bled in front of them felt as if it went unnoticed
as if they just admired the saturated color with the ghost of a smile gracing their pursed lips

Nature should be one of our greatest teachers
It brings us back to our roots
Reminds us that we are creations in our cores as well
Invites us to come back home to our complex yet simple ways of being
Nature does not control nor stop the natural process of whatever is meant to pass or stay
We do that
So as I stand next to this tree
I admire its gift of reminding me
To let the leaves fall where they may
When it’s their time
For there is a season for all things
Some leave even when we don’t want them to
Some let go at the optimal time
And others stay longer than we hoped for
But to trust the timing

I think of the girl I was just a few years ago
A happy girl
She never felt like something was missing from her
She never saw in others what she lacked
Every experience was exciting because it was new and it was thrilling
What happened to her
Now every time I see myself I see cracks and I see pieces
I feel like I am floating above myself watching myself move through motions
I look at others only to see my lack
I cling onto the wisps of memory of innocence and think about when I was greener
Nostalgia

if i was your type
would i be smaller than you in stature
the force of my words softer,
my thoughts easier to live under?
if i was your type
would i be a light read?
the picture painted black and white,
while my greys keep growing with age.
if i was your type
the stress of a minimum reaction
feels more natural than breathing,
the double texts reciprocal.
if i was your type
would you want me then,
in the same ways that i want,
for only the sake of company?