you take my heart and clench it between your palms and wring it out. it’s excruciating, and somehow exactly what i need. because for so long, my heart has been oversaturated, drowning in empty promises and leftover love from people who came to stay, whose fingerprints lingered long after
there is a small stretch of morning where a city hasn’t quite decided what everyone is yet. before people disappear behind the doors that give them titles, the streets are full of unfinished versions of them. scrubs haven’t become nurses yet. backpacks haven’t become students. a coffee
love, you cannot stay here forever. you cannot grow roots in the same place you grew up, anchored by sameness, sinking deeper into “what ifs” while the rest of the world trips across state lines, discovering unknowns. soon, you will never see this house again. your acquaintances will scatter to
do you remember the last time you had a cold? not a terrible one. nothing worth flowers on the kitchen counter or voices lowering when they ask how you are, just enough to make breathing something you had to think about, which is strange when you consider how many years
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this is "the afterword". if your here, you've found the place where all the things i've been writing down for years finally have somewhere to live - thoughts from my half-filled notebooks, unfinished pages, and ideas that refuse to leave me alone. i'