Writing
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The words stick in my throat. Heavy. Feeling foreign even though I utter them so freely, so frequently, so loosely daily to many of those who pass by in my life. Fear lingers around every syllable. Fear that saying it makes it real. Fear that they’ll be the next weapon of choice in the never
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Don’t think with your heart, they tell me, you’ll just end up getting hurt. How, I wonder, am I to think with anything else? What sense is there to be made of the way your hand fits into mine? How am I to make sense of the way your eyes catch mine and I try
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Fear It’s funny, I’ve had this one word sitting on a page for days now. Thinking about it. Considering it. Looking at it. I had every intention of making this post and expounding upon how I’ve faced so many of my fears and how very few fears I truly have left in this life. Driving
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Someday my walls won’t be covered in fingerprints and dirt. Someday my laundry piles will be manageable and small. There won’t be an energetic girl doing cartwheels endlessly in my living room and bending in ways that surely are not human. There won’t be a boy eating snacks endlessly from the kitchen and speaking of
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you see people in shapes and beauty i see people in the pain behind their eyes the stardust in their souls their hearts full of dreams their brains full of ideas the way their hands hold the things that matter i see the scars carved into their minds the things they’ve lost the moments they’ve
I Would Rather Be In Bed 