Writing

it rained the night of our arrival -

big, whooshing gasps of whitewashed rain & thunder that

shook heavy against the darkening skies. dinner went long.

we only sang louder, deafening echoes beneath the storm as

I love you.

I know that’s just me

And you

And there are hundreds

Of millions

Of haters

Of hated.

But I love you.

But you’re my best friend.

I love you for phone calls

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 

"Life isn't about finding yourself.

Life is about creating yourself."

Said the big chalkboard on the wall

In that gym lined with red mats

And chairs and chairs and chairs

I'll never forget

I am delicate,

not fragile,

please handle me as such.

I was crafted,

perfected,

but I will crumble under your touch.

I am easy to break

because I am not meant to be broken,

I found myself in the things I love

In the music I listen to

In the books I read

In the posters on my walls 

I found myself 

In my favorite drink

In going to the beach

In writing poetry