Writing

I am sitting here by the fairy lights strung 

Through the interior of West’s bus

Listening to him sleep

Writing down everything that I want you to know

Butterfly kiss, soft against my skin.

Promises.

Cyclone of feeling, enveloping not just me, but us.

Anticipation.

Honey-brown sunset eyes, on my green hazel.

Confessions.

Today my friend asked me a question.

Would you rather be living a comfortable lie,

or know an uncomfortable truth?

I wanted to say, The truth. Always.

But what if that's not true?

The portal opens in those fleeting moments that feel like they are about to crescendo, about to climb the final step to see over the mountain top.

Dear Jo March,

my horoscope said i would lose someone dear to me,

you've never really believed in that astrology,

but i click on yours, and what i see staring back