writing

    Goodbye August

    August watched as anxiety dripped in beads from my brow, tear soaked lashes and waking to damp skin, alternate realities and oceans swallowing me whole, prisms in water color at my feet, there were phantom fingers tracing the freckles on my shoulders to map out new constellations. 

    I wished that they were yours but you were far away, out of sight for sore eyes, bathing in symmetrical sorrows, bridges crumbling between us until we broke down at the close and loved each other again, building matchstick houses for our dreams while waiting for burnt amber leaves to fall into September and carry us with the breeze.
     
    writing

    A Saturday in June

    A yellow haze rolls through the air, a ray of light for every shadow of the land. The clouds refuse to part, and when the rain comes it does so without warning. However it is gentle, melodic as it knocks on the window, coaxing me to look outside. Beyond the window I see the colors seeping onto the earth, a painting being created in real time. The sun teases in the background, the clouds tearing from a lack of commitment. I cannot blame them—I would love to see the beauty in its complete form. There is nothing to hide.

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