Writing

Charcoal 

is our preferred method 

with which to sketch our days 

thick, dark swaths of pigment 

that smear and make their mark 

unapologetically 

to fly//is to merely escape//to swim is to merely drown//to run//is to merely run away//to sing//is to sing.

he wakes me up at 7:00 on the dot. he jumps into my bed and licks my face until i sit up. he bounds around on three legs. a dog took his other one. he was adopted from foster care.

The wind brushed across her cheeks, tender. It fluttered her hair and made it stand upright, soft, as the sun caressed its fingers across her arm, both warm and compassionate.

It's the little things at first, right?

Yes, I rather think so.

It always starts bright

The light reaching my eyes 

Only after the delay

It’s not really something I can share, is it? Because they feel it. Visible in their eyes, urgent text messages, twirling of the hair. How do you communicate an ache originating from the darkest depths of your soul?