I NEEDED THIS TODAY.
impossible is nothing
1.18.2012
1.15.2012
Next thing I know we are on the road. Jammed in a backseat swaying with corners. Your hand finds my knee and decides to stay. I think it feels nice. Right.
I watch your steps as you walk to your door. Careful. Implied.
I try to mimic them as I climb the stairs to my own. But mine are unsteady.
1.11.2012
This makes sense to me.
I like words.
They are like someone who knows exactly what to do with their hands.
It feels so good,
it hurts a little.
Outside there is a pool.
I could go swimming,
the way a body moves under water.
I want to tell you everything.
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par·a·chute
[par-uh-shoot] noun, verb, -chut·ed, -chut·ing.noun
1.
a folding, umbrellalike, fabric device for allowing a person, to float down safely through the air from a great height.
“But it’s hard to stay mad when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once and it’s too much. My heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life.” — American Beauty












