Time aches- my words break as if they’re the wings of a captured butterfly as if they’re the seconds that keep ticking by as if they’re embers that refuse to ignite.
The sea calls to me – she promises to set me free, it’s tempting- losing myself in her vastness allowing her to swallow me whole, beckoning me to make her deep darkness my forever home.
And the world seems just a little bit warmer, and the sun shines slightly brighter than it used to, and the days pass differently than before, and time is no longer stuck in a loop.
I am fierce yet fragile – cradle me with care, I can shred your soul, light you on fire, or send you into the dark abyss – the difference between us is – I wouldn’t dare.
Cider and candor and cranberry kisses, firelight dancing – lowered inhibitions, our eyes caught up in intimate moments, soaking in these cinnamon-spiced secrets.
When winter withers – my bones begin to thaw, my lungs crackle as they expand, and the blood in my veins start to flow and I awaken from hibernation – hungry for happiness and eager to let go.
Lost journals are steps back home, like the mending of broken bones, like scars that act as patches to my soul, like the measurement marks on my mother’s wall that show just how much I’ve grown.
I’m half agony, half hope – like I’m a freshly cut bone, like the last stone that was held – then not thrown, like a garden where inspiration roots but never grows.
