PeachesMalone

June 8th, 1916

I wish I could have a catalog of all the smells I've ever smelled
The playground in preschool
Hazelnut coffee on Christmas morning
My friend's personal scent (Baking bread, maybe? Home?)
I wish I could go through them in my mind

Please don't run over that butterfly
I know it's already dead and it's out of its misery and nothing could hurt it now
But please
Don't destroy the beautiful bit of orange lying on this broken dying world 

Young Writers Project is 
Itself
A spell
Cast by people 
With beautiful sentences
Shards of paragraphs
Revolving under a chandalier 
Inside their heads
A spell
That lasts 

You are my question
Sometimes you have a clear answer 
Sometimes you have many clea answers but I can never understand them all
Is this all in my head
Maybe you are
I think that sometimes, you know
That you don't exist

What am I supposed to do now
Now that I've figured it out
This great mystery is unraveled
In my bath tub
In the middle of the night
What do I do
There's nothing to do now but wait
For an opportunity
No
A reason