this girl needs a little practice. she sees the night sky and wants it to light up. there are sparks and there are flames but all i want is to look up and let my eyes wander about the darkness, tracing the stars with my eyes and feeling just enough to let go. it’s a memory of something that never really happened and pulse points remind her of that something she knows will be. whenever her lashes are down she breathes in. where these hoops keep emerging and roadblocks keep appearing, she’ll never be able to predict. but there is nothing she can’t handle. she saw her death and his death and the rambling losses of time and tide and the gorgeous breezes that still lingered throughout even the most violent of pain. when this morning came about and she found the familiar comfort of bicycle and coffee and journal, it was easy to breathe. picking up the pen and translating each breath, curving down the street into the driveway. this girl is the sun and the sky. she looks down and she finds comfort in the garden, in the blue sky, in the road, in the softness beneath her feet.


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