Every time I think about the sadness I try to rewrite a part of that story. I keep pacing like a lonely ghost, but I have to remind myself that I’m not that lonely, right? but I’ll arch my arrow back and point it in the direct of everything I hate. I miss every single time. I crafted a beautiful story, you know. It’s laced with treasures. I’ll give you the clues if you decide to stay for awhile. I wonder who can see right through it, because I can see right through it. I bet they all fucking see right though it. I think about the heaviness that held me up- pushed me. Pushed me. Pushed me. A sticky act of grace and surrendering. And I’m on that edge, but I balance like I’ve been practicing my whole life because I have. Lately I’ve been trying to put my arrows away. Letting my palms gracefully reach out to anyone who is trying to hold them. I’ve never held such poise, but this is how I forgive the bad things that happened for giving me nothing. I was once told that the strongest flowers bloom in the dark- and as those pedals fall from my fingertips I watch new parts of me bloom. Im learning how to let it as I watched my hero’s die, but not leave for good. Trying to do good and be good. And the best part about sinking is coming back up for air and realizing how sweet it tastes. Savor it under my tongue for when the waters feel heavy and everything is wilting inside me. Let myself breathe again. -AMT