And we were always running never to but always from and always running... And we were always hurting never for but always from
Notes rolling off of my fingers The right hand sings a soft melody… The richer undertones of the left… Flowing and melting in swirling ma… The quiet inner voice on the right…
I’ll tell you to hold on tight, and we can be alone together in this nothingness. I’ll tell you to tell me a story, and we can laugh and cry together
He drapes his hand over the mounta… Brushes his fingertips over the fi… His breath dusts the windowpanes w… He cries for Spring, his tears fa… Soft mounds of snow form below him…
flirting with death ring the bell and run she knows it was you but she lets you go you are waiting to die.
The clouds in the distance Sit, patient Oblivious to my need For rain They promise the rain
star-struck because stars are fictional, heavenly things. but
dance in the sun watch it splatter over your face
I want to hold your hand Tight in my own As we run far away To a brand new home. I want to cup your face
The wind– A finicky rush That has to be somewhere else All the time. The faint echoes of summer
I do not know All of the answers. I forget sometimes And I’m not always right. Don’t listen to me,
All I have to say Is I am incomplete A story left unwritten A page left unturned But that does not matter
If I died And no one knew, I don’t know. And I am scared And everything hurts
Whiteboards are erasable. Write down a message Swipe it away with a sleeve Scribble down another message. Swipe it away again.
Wet paper arrows quivering against the bright string of the bow. The arrows
