Writing

I'm sifting in the sand:

Ma said there’d be seashells.

All I have to do is simple,

that’s what I’m told.

Cute swimsuit…
 

check.

Grief, in all forms, in all ways, changes you. I am not afraid of spiders—they crawl, and they creep, and they dangle from their long lines of gossamer webbing, and they watch me.

So you want to talk about the meaning of life? There are many people telling you what your life should mean. More importantly what your time should be, because what is life except time and consciousness? Some people say your time is money.

My friends are not Australia but I wish they were. Because if they were, then there would be no world where I have to save them from doom scrolling thousands of perfect bodies that a 13 year old can't and shouldn't have.

I thought you didn’t care.

You laughed the same with everyone,

spoke easily,

walked away like nothing stayed behind.

So I told myself

I was imagining it—

the way your eyes lingered

front lawns

frogs 

crochet projects

and tears

bring mind to your

fairytale girl

she laughs like a poet would (and does)

and moves my fingers

on the ukulele strings