Tell Me A Story, I’m In No Hurry.

Are there parts that still live in me that belong to you?

Are there parts of me that dance in the light of mundane moments?

Because even after all this time,

There’s moments of you in the things that I do

In the certain moments of play

In the movies I decide to watch

In the ways I fold pieces of clothes.

Maybe love isn’t the time and the space, but the lingering affects, the little moments in which we are inspired and molded.

And while I am most certainly a collection of my own beginnings and ends and quirks,

I don’t think I’m anything certain people might have wanted.

But I hope if they dance across time to look a little harder

They’ll see the parts of themselves

But the soft embrace of your everything else