you spend your whole life just to remember the sound when the world was brighter, before we learned to dim it down.
call it survival, call it the freedom of wills; where breath is borrowed our compass needle stands still.
our resignation only comes on beaten paths.
when the world was flat, we dreamt of its edges…
if love’s elastic, then were we born to test its reach? is it buried treasure or just a single puzzle piece?
it’s poison ivy beneath our brave and trusting feet… but all revelations come to us in recovery.
cry wolf, cry mercy, cry the name of the one you were raised to believe; cry hard, cry yourself to sleep, cry a storm of tears, if it helps you breathe. if it helps you, if it helps you breathe