i think about it

it’s a trying time, a loss of mind. they say the art of dying is a misled affair, not creative nor astounding but certainly abundant in impact. as she brushes her hair back, her fingers fumble for the tie. they shake with the uncertain tremor of someone who misses home. her heart has drifted off, floating foolishly in the balance.

stifling silence, tell me to breathe. a modest moon hangs over my head but can hardly contain her excitement. in the shallow lakes of white light i sit and wish on busy stars - if i am put on hold i understand, for they have urgent calls to answer. in a naive stroke of genuine hope, i wonder if the gates open tomorrow.

he rushes in, exhausted by this existence but revitalized by your call. shaky inhales and shakier hands serve you a second chance as the sun sets in shades of swirling red. you laugh for the first time in months.

the funny thing about adolescence is that we never really grow out of it; our skin gets older, our minds become frayed on the edges, but that pure desperation to see the world never ceases, always flows and shows itself in the tryingest of times.