Nothing felt right. It was always a wilting memory- an influx of sadness that made me breathless. Fuck breathing air because all it does is keep me alive. Keep me sad. Keep me a sinner. If I say anymore then I’ll accidentally tell a lie. Everyone keeps asking me if I miss how things used to be- I’m still trying to give them an answer. I guess I miss the way the sky bleeds stars and repeats the messy act every night just to show me light. I miss my freckles and how they ate the sun without question. I miss the open fields and how they drew me in as I roamed their hollows in a vastness that I deemed sacred. Follow me past Tilby Road near the street you grew up on- told our parents we’d never cross the winding pavement ever since the boy from the west side of town crashed in the night. But I promise to keep you safe because this town lives in the curvature of my palms and I own the map- it’s a part of me. Not everyone can keep a secret, but my mind is so loyal to my body that I can make the words become a part of my bones- just you watch. I guess the hardest part of all this is moving on. Giving away everything you were once told for the sake of being okay. Just give it to the dark space around the moonlight- return the favor. Try to be myself again but stop trying to try for the sake of trying. Remember that it’s not just a season- it’s so much more : the leaves are starting to let go and so am I