What if hope were an inanimate object? A blanket, a door, a spoon, maybe a boomerang that occasionally gets lost but always returns to sender. How often would you want it, use it, keep it, loose it?
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Desire will chase me with sticks and stones that could break me; Ambition will tag me looser and wake me. Together they make a great team; they have treacherously laid their nest in me…
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The music comes on and I shut you all out, I dance not for show but for connection with me. The me that I only allow conversations with when I am sufficiently lulled by the call of words and the beat of
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I’m hungry with an unsheathing appetite for things I’ve never tasted; victory, fulfilment, contentment. There is a chilling cloud that follows me without invitation. A cloud which on occasion
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Uninvited, the thought of you stayed too late in my head. So I went to bed, dreaming you hard, hard, woke with your name, like tears, soft, salt, on my lips, the sound of its bright syllables
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I looked up to my favourite roof in the world and though tonight it carried less stars and more clouds than usual, it was still spectacular. He was with me.
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she walked in deafened by her own beating heart, ignoring the locomotive train bells ringing in her head, she stepped over the threshold, and shed her blanket of cotton wool mama’s love gave her.
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There was an island in those eyes, a little fortress of his own, there was something soothing about those rich pools and I either gazed or fell asleep because the next time I looked into those eyes
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this one is actually so awful, I can’t even find an okay line for excerpt. But I refuse to delete it so oh, well.
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I feel you slip away from me every time you close your eyes. I fear that should you blink a second longer, I might actually lose you forever.
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