When you proposed you didn’t have a ring, and it was not pancakes, it was egg. It was not fairytale-like or slow paced romantic. It was late morning and you smelled like penicillin. Your hair was crazy curls and you hadn’t shaved for like a week. You blurted, “what if you changed your name into Mrs.C.” I was stunned, offended, my egg burnt. I said you can’t say things like that, smelling like that, looking like that. First take a shower, get a ring, and ask on bended knee. You said nonchalantly: my knees hurt.
there’s no point (anymore) chasing the closure you want . the closure you deserve is never going to happen. there will be no better endings, they just are.
no one knows how to tell other people that they’re exhausted.
When you are living in a house where guilt is alive, it leaves a mark.
And when you are living in an atmosphere of daily, ever-present guilt, what does that do to children? It changes their souls.
i think a lot about your eyes
…and how painful it is to be
in a room full of people with such
empty pockets and words that are
so heavy i cannot lift them from
you are the greatest secret
if i could i would hold you between
my hands like morning.
no one agrees but she’s me in my wedding dress
no one agrees but we both know she looks like me
no one should know but we both know the truth
if we are the same person before and after we loved, it means we haven’t loved enough.
i have too much to keep
too little to share
too vague to make clear
too soft for a love like yours
i speak rain,
i spin you a night and you hide in it.
i’d like to believe that people are essentially (and substantially) good.