“Everything you say is fire,” sweet fire, a burn like a kiss. I prayed every day for someone with your tongue. You swing sweet melodies. I love you so.
Light, little breezes. Spring time, you die. You see the renewal and know it just begins again. Another cycle. Another year, another Winter. You measure your lives in Winters now. The Winter of ’13. The year you came as close to killing yourself as you ever hope you could. The melodramatic despair of your essay for that one writing class not being good enough for an A and you want to die, die die so you don’t have to see the end of it. So you don’t have to know that yes, it isn’t good enough. Thanks for trying.