She’ll never admit just how beautiful she is. But you have to tell her. She won’t tell you to stop. But when she does, tell her anyway. Tell it to her by the way you look at her. Tell it to her before she sleeps. Tell it to her when she falls asleep at the other end of the line. Tell it to her when she doesn’t need it. She will take it in. Sometimes, with a smile. Most of the time, just with her whole self. She’ll confuse it for love. And you let her know that it is.
I visited a stranger's grave.
A Lover's Quarrel with Writing
Motion. Emotion. Slow motion. Hide my intentions. Show my imperfections. Everyday I'm just trying to get myself into motion.
2pm on a weekday. I'm over this. No more complaining. I'll use that energy to plan my escape.
When I think of being content, this is what I picture.
On this cold, clear January night, some trick of the atmosphere makes the distant city lights twinkle like stars.
#1: Learn to receive love.
I guess this place isn't so bad. For now.