star

No. I don't want to love you.

I don't want to play songs that sound like you

until they become my whole head, I don't want

to write a poem 

if you ever call me laughing and cold

She has just showered, and her hair hangs limp down her back, washed of the shampoo she waited five minutes, forehead against the cool tile wall, to rinse off. The sky is ink and charcoal, but then, it has been for hours.

& walk around soho with maxi skirts & matcha & annotate the bell jar in velvet blue ink on curling pages with garamond font & wear my hair long down my back & dark sunglasses pulled up on my head & bangle bracelets that sli

I found this vignette in a notebook from summer 2024 and thought it was worth sharing. I have no memory of writing it, but I'm glad I did. 

I never thought I'd wonder

how it would feel to touch your face

but now the thought sticks to my skin, tangles

in my hair. I never thought 

your eyes would be anything but blue,

Your hair danced in the wind

yesterday, and the trees

turned your eyes green.

You took

a photo of me, my skin 

flushed from the fire, my 

eyes closed on accident

and I took one