I have come to realize that the most tender thing is not pain, but happiness.
So random, so elusive, an intangible wisp in the void.
I can't control how long it stays, before it
leaves, like the foggy residue of a dream in the morning,
reaching, grasping onto it
but not quite. The more you think it, over-
think it, the faster it slips away, away, away.
Lana Del Rey was right. It's a butterfly,
impossible to catch with all the elbow grease and grimace
but maybe if you stop trying, maybe if you
hold your hand out and let the expectations fall away
it'll land on your tender
finger for a few seconds longer than the