M

And if I had the heart for chasing, I would meet you at the edge of this world and give you my affection like it was meant to be.

Isn't it tragic how humans write about distant things, the stars, the moon, God.

I'm just a little bit envious of the sun, the way it shines unapologetically, brilliantly, without a care. How it was meant to be blinding, not for the careless gaze of humans.

Hey, don't listen to people- okay?

Thousands of poets yet no one really does it quite like hozeir.

Summer has dug her nails in my flesh. She's sinking her teeth in my bones, like she wants me to burn.

I'm a writer, I lie sometimes but my pen can't. I could say that this night is less beautiful due to your absence but I can't write it. Because the pen in my hand doesn't give me the right to diminish the allure of starlight or call the moon hideous.