I miss you like I miss my childhood and good God,
I think it's because that's what you were.
You were a childhood fantasy and now you are gone
we're
two teenagers who don't look when we pass in the hall
don't talk, speak, breathe when the other is near
hidden away in our little spheres
You were a childhood fantasy and now you are gone
and I think that's better for us
because I miss you like I miss my childhood and good God,
I never want to be a child again.
sewing soft stitches in unnerved unsteady lines
still new at old practices, still young as the thread winds
around a needle’s head, through the almost-fabric like
skin.
Familiar is this earthly language, these archives full to the brim.
It must be how the world got magic, these rhymes of life and limb.
Breathe.
In. Out.
A calm breath,
a solid moment stuck
in the middle of chaos.
Count to a number you call
lucky. Every number is lucky to somebody.
Comments
A lovely piece
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