Writing

I missed my bus today. There I was at the stop, on main street; I had a croissant—chocolate—and I had my bag and I had a plan which consisted of getting on the bus, sitting down, and getting off at my stop.

The past

Full of mishaps

Full of mistakes

Full of mess ups

Full of errors

Contradictory

We should learn about

All the things we did wrong

So we can get better

But some people

Verse 1
The sun sets slow on this fading day,
I see your faces, but they feel far away.
Laughter lingers in the hollow air,
But something’s shifting like you’re not really there.

there is a hand squeezing my heart

tight slow like it knows every part of me

holding on to the pieces i’m leaving behind

the empty rooms the silent voices the half spoken goodbyes

it does not let go

sometimes the dress feels like a soft breath

a quiet hope wrapped in fabric

that touches my skin like a secret i’m afraid to speak aloud

it’s the way light moves when i twirl

the way i feel seen without saying a word

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