a memory once threatened to pull the stars out of your sky, before you no longer took solace in forgiveness, before you were broken enough to choose yourself.

you set yourself on fire to watch him burn, and were surprised to find salvation in the light. he is ash. you are a force of nature.

falling is hard on the knees
though it was running that ruined yours
in your pursuit of happiness
in your attempt to arrive at yourself

there are truths we know, but are afraid to speak, for a word is the worst manifestation of a feeling. a predetermined series of letters cannot wholly touch, cannot wholly serve as substitute for the overwhelming pounding in our hearts, for the overwhelming pounding in our heads.

you are numbers. weight. height. atm pin. credit score. credit card number. phone number. social security number. forty-six minutes after eight pm. 

you are supposed to be art.

one day you will stumble upon someone who will start a fire in you that cannot die.

you find a stumble in his step. you find water in the lines of his fading smile. you find that the house has not changed in a structural sense, but your clothes are in a box and you can’t find the scissors.

he sleeps, in this place you call home as a point of reference. you are desperately homesick for every moment you’ve ever lived.

"Being happy isn’t having everything in your life perfect. Maybe it’s about stringing together all the little things."

- A Brashares