And we were always running never to but always from and always running... And we were always hurting never for but always from
It is the emptiness, the nothingness, the in-between. Is it broken? Is it maimed?
Hi Dad. I’d like you to know I’m finally Unboxing each memory Framed
Words are just words They say But if they’re “just words,” Why do they hurt so much more When they tell the truth?
We used to have the same lunch, didn’t we? We used to laugh at the same jokes… wouldn’t we? We were woven from the same fabric
Wet paper arrows quivering against the bright string of the bow. The arrows
Dare you to shatter Dance in the rain while Unbreaking and Made by the darkness. And there are stars,
The wind– A finicky rush That has to be somewhere else All the time. The faint echoes of summer
My heart Is a glass ball Delicate Awaiting somebody Who will cradle it gently
Maybe I resent it because I know that since it meant so much it hurts so much more. And maybe I resent the fact
star-drunk child, foolish in your fear— announce your cries to the night, feel the heat of life
As you walk away, Without looking back, I stand here, heart in my hands. I wish you had stayed Or that I’d done something differ…
star-struck because stars are fictional, heavenly things. but
Muddled footsteps In the dirt, Wind in our ears, The sun Shrinks down beneath
Something is dying, Quivering on the edge Of my soul. It is shaking Swaying in the lightest breeze
