Writing

As the last light fades, so do the birds.

 So do the rays of sunshine.

So does the warmth in the air.

A chill gets carried across the gentle breeze as it ruffles the leaves of the trees and makes them dance.

“Life is beautiful in every way,” I think to myself. 

I sit on a chair in the screened-in porch, alone.

Where only the trees can hear me now.

sometimes,

i close my eyes

and dream of a world

different from ours,

a world

where things feel less broken,

a world

I used to race my shadow down the sidewalk,

thinking if I ran fast enough

I could outrun time.

Now I walk slower,

because somewhere along the way

time learned my name.

I still sit in the same car seat,

My name is Giovani. I remember the filling of the snow falling from the sky. I come from Brazil, a country that has summer there every day for 365 days, the only place that snows is on the very south and that is not every time  that happens.

“Jack of all trades, master of none”

Cut me some slack

Please?

If two halves make a whole, why don’t 34 half-descents?

Can a lot of alright be good enough for you?