There’s missing pieces all throughout my spirit. I feel the hollows echo and lull me to sleep. I think about the vastness of this world and how I hate and love it all at once.

I sway towards the breeze where everyone I love surrounds me- they spark a match against my calloused palms and remind me that it’s time to rest- it’s time to hold what I have carried gently still- it’s time to breathe without fighting for every breath. I smoke too much and I know that’s why my lungs ache.

The parts I hate surround me too. I see strangers sharpening their teeth. The world takes and takes and takes. I want to take a breath without the sting but I can’t find that kind of grace for myself. It’s moving mountains and I’m too tired for such a task.

I wanted to call an old friend the other day- but I knew she wouldn’t answer. I think she’s afraid of the silence between words, so I let the ringing echo in those spaces between my heart and lungs. I’m getting tired. I wonder what age the world actually makes of me. Cut my bones down and count the rings like the old tree that collapsed last summer. They assumed it had been there for decades until they counted centuries. Another worldly assumption that keeps me hollow. I’m breathing heavy again. There’s missing pieces all throughout my spirit.