bliss.

It was a slow day,

The kind where you give ur steps a second to

catch up and slow down to hear the chirps of

the tiny canaries and notice the yellows in the

centres of flowers.

The kind you take a moment to catch up with

a vaguely familiar face at the super market instead of

a polite nod or looking the other

way pretending not to notice them.

Its a day you smell the new spring dewed air

And hope to step in a puddle to feel a little wet

to remind yourself aliveness means getting

uncomfortable sometimes.

Today I returned home to bake my carrot cake

and invited over a friend for mimosas.

We sipped and peeled and drank and baked

and poured and drank.

We got to know each other even better than

before

And we sipped some more.

And we mixed and toasted to life going

Whichever way it needs to.

And we polished off that bottle and we ate our

baked goods and she left.

And I went to my friend’s house for more

drinks and a night with more friends.

How lucky I am for my friends.

And together we ate my carrot cake

And we laughed and sang

And we drank some more

And I felt sleepy and I caught a ride home.

And I slept and I was happy

Happy to have beautiful people in my life

And happy to be alive and to live for more

days with these people and more beautiful

things.

Today was a day I decided to bake instead of

worrying about the fact that we’ll probably be

breaking up by the end of this weekend.

But I know that life has beautiful, sweet things in it

regardless,

and maybe another beautiful thing is saying

the sun's setting so soon

it's brisk in the mornings

sun's beaming in the afternoons

but the days feel so much longer

when I'm wrapped up in the thought of you.

and I anticipate your smile

it keeps me awake

cause I'm laughing like a child

pressed flowers in a book is a love story,

laying in grass with bare toes is a love story.

gold leaf and tinsel are love stories.

watching the sun move from one corner of the sky

to another is a love story.

eating toast with salted butter

and honey is a love story.

window sill benches are love stories.

writing is a love story.

washed the sheets, I made the bed,

I wrote it out,

I saw to myself instead.

let gold light in,

rediscovered sunshine,

it was quiet then,

the name of yet

it sways to the beat

every paralyzing dread.

every seam untwisting quickly,

where's my needle and thread?

I won't leave out any detail,

expose every frayed edge,

because this is what love is,

taste the stale in the air

trace shapes into clouds

and get my head out of there

and I float until I fall

I carve names into trees

but I'll avoid the forests for now

and take my time to breathe

I'll let you spare my change

spend the nickels and dimes

escape funds I'll keep

In case I change my mind

So walk with me slowly

and hold my hand sound

cause I do want you

we were already starting

to run out of

He doesn’t want to leave first.

He ignores it and convinces himself 

love is simply cursed.

And he loves me well, it’s true I suppose,

He loves me best when he keeps

His fears composed.

And when I don’t reflect back the parts of him

That scare him most.

It’s in the back of my head,

In the back of my throat,

Words I almost said, but couldn’t quite let go.

And the saddest part, I fear,

Is when I’d wake up next to him,

He’s hatching his escape as I’m memorizing

His lips,

His nose.

The way his chest went up and down

these songs bleed of you,

these songs wear you,

these songs embody you,

As if being touched would break you.

And never so much as a peak into your thoughts.

“They’re too dark” you’d say, with a reassuring smile that it wasn’t worth diving into.

Darkness is what I enjoy dissecting most,

But it stains my hands.