i’m here in this moment so are you we collide into one and then separate into two i will see you soon

it’s a dreamatic reverie

what do you think about when you’re all alone, after you put down your phone and lay your eyes to rest?

ephemerations

your body carries memories, and here (pointing to the center of your being) a portrait of them, etched into the heart unsullied by chronologica, hours unbent it’s yours to carry

a lovelorn heart will take you down the walked path where it all comes still but soften your gaze, let your hardened heart turn to dust to be washed away downstream you are you again

i didn’t know that memories could wash away like sand on a cold beach. every memory a grain, and every feeling a little seashell embedded into the shifting ground. what once existed felt so absolute, so tangible, so real, as if it were an object belonging to time. but only in...

and you’re still here, after everything. those nights where you were close to the end don’t feel as close anymore, you can only see it if you squint in the dark. and you’ll be here. until it’s your time—not by your time, but time itself.

salt encrusted sand, mid-february. the air tasted saline, sterile, and their jaws ached from the cold tooth clench.

we are all one consciousness — and you knew this all along. reconnect to it. close your eyes and listen to how your breath matches the wind

truthfully, i didn’t know that a person could unwittingly pull at your heart strings before noon, before you started to feel your idea of love changing from what could be, to what is.

on sundays he was warmth, a cup of earl grey tea in hand and messy hair draped over the edge of the baby blue bedspread. he would always scrunch his eyebrows when the sun met his face, his eyes struggling to stay shut, at all costs.

he felt more like an endless sea of contradictions than a person — where did he begin and where did i end?

when the world ends, where will you be? maybe in the arms of a beloved: you trace the memories on their skin with your cold fingertips. (that time they fell off their bike in the second grade; a faded brown heart shaped scar on their knee). a second longer under their embrace ...

make sure you find someone to hold that heavy heart of yours, before it drowns you under its weight

annotated memories on polaroids, scribbled in the language of fineline sharpie and smudged fingerprints. oftentimes i wish i could take myself back to all the years etched in the recesses of my memories. memories so quiet, so tender, the faintest sketch upon my mind.

i’m here in this moment so are you we collide into one and then separate into two i will see you soon

it’s a dreamatic reverie

what do you think about when you’re all alone, after you put down your phone and lay your eyes to rest?

ephemerations

your body carries memories, and here (pointing to the center of your being) a portrait of them, etched into the heart unsullied by chronologica, hours unbent it’s yours to carry

a lovelorn heart will take you down the walked path where it all comes still but soften your gaze, let your hardened heart turn to dust to be washed away downstream you are you again

i didn’t know that memories could wash away like sand on a cold beach. every memory a grain, and every feeling a little seashell embedded into the shifting ground. what once existed felt so absolute, so tangible, so real, as if it were an object belonging to time. but only in...

and you’re still here, after everything. those nights where you were close to the end don’t feel as close anymore, you can only see it if you squint in the dark. and you’ll be here. until it’s your time—not by your time, but time itself.

salt encrusted sand, mid-february. the air tasted saline, sterile, and their jaws ached from the cold tooth clench.

we are all one consciousness — and you knew this all along. reconnect to it. close your eyes and listen to how your breath matches the wind

truthfully, i didn’t know that a person could unwittingly pull at your heart strings before noon, before you started to feel your idea of love changing from what could be, to what is.

on sundays he was warmth, a cup of earl grey tea in hand and messy hair draped over the edge of the baby blue bedspread. he would always scrunch his eyebrows when the sun met his face, his eyes struggling to stay shut, at all costs.

he felt more like an endless sea of contradictions than a person — where did he begin and where did i end?

when the world ends, where will you be? maybe in the arms of a beloved: you trace the memories on their skin with your cold fingertips. (that time they fell off their bike in the second grade; a faded brown heart shaped scar on their knee). a second longer under their embrace ...

make sure you find someone to hold that heavy heart of yours, before it drowns you under its weight

annotated memories on polaroids, scribbled in the language of fineline sharpie and smudged fingerprints. oftentimes i wish i could take myself back to all the years etched in the recesses of my memories. memories so quiet, so tender, the faintest sketch upon my mind.