Colour My Words.

You Are Dying.

 You are dying because you are so alive          

I clump your damp earth 
by fistfuls          I exalt your guts and lowlands

         your territories overrun with horses 
I fill up your hollows

-Brownyn Valentine, "Dear Body"

*Bleep* Off, Winter.

'Twas about that time of the year you left us for good.

Reality.

What is reality, anyway?

(If we)

stomped each other's feet

on our way to heaven

you and me 

(we)

hung our coats

on the atriums of

faith.

 

Waited.

And just to think, I left the rest of my life right there. At that sharp intake of breath, and the crushing quiet that came after. 

Instead, I wake to the same old dreams and sip coffee with my longing. I think of how different it would’ve been if not for foreboding. 

And just to think, I left the rest of my life right there. How about an exhale, I wonder. How about a sound.

Chrysalis.

 “She liked being reminded of butterflies. She remembered being six or seven and crying over the fates of the butterflies in her yard after learning that they lived for only a few days. Her mother had comforted her and told her not to be sad for the butterflies, that just because their lives were short didn't mean they were tragic. Watching them flying in the warm sun among the daisies in their garden, her mother had said to her, see, they have a beautiful life. Alice liked remembering that.” - Lisa Genova, Still Alice