YWP

If I could weave the memories of you in a giant blanket 

The night sky would appear 

Or maybe the streets of that one city in Central America 

The unspoken words caught in a language barrier

And it tucked wildflowers

Between the pages,

Petals and pollen spiralled

Like constellations,

Still whispering of the breeze

And of the shooting stars;

This is my last sentence: We all belong here.

This is her last sentence: We all are loved.

This is his last sentence: We are a community.

This is their last sentence: Good will conquer evil.

Woven from feelings of happiness and friendship, short-lived as those feelings may be.

Woven from a cat’s meow and a dog’s tail wag.

Woven from ideals of love and compassion.

Woven from goodness itself.

I saw a photo of myself from freshman year

I didn’t love how I looked, cringed at it—a knee-jerk reaction to my ugly, green shoelaces—but not necessarily just because of my physical appearance

When you are old

Your skin will become like paper,

And your bones will be like the wooden ribs

Of a lantern

So that the world will see the light in your chest.

But I don't need to wait