there is a hand squeezing my heart
tight slow like it knows every part of me
holding on to the pieces i’m leaving behind
the empty rooms the silent voices the half spoken goodbyes
it does not let go
even when i try to breathe
it reminds me of what will never be the same
what will slip through my fingers like sand
and i carry it with me
a weight both sharp and familiar
a quiet ache beneath my ribs
that tells me i am not just moving forward
but carrying everything i’m afraid to lose
i get
obsessed
with little things
movies
singers
people
anything
for two to six months
i cant
think
about
anything
else
like being tangled
the road turns slow past the fields
stone crackles under the tires like a voice i forgot i missed
i lean forward in my seat holding my breath
because there you are
just past the trees
the air tastes like honey and promise
sticky with the scent of blooming jasmine
and freshly cut grass that crunches beneath bare feet
the sky drips blue
stretching wider every afternoon
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