I’m turning pages of chapters I’ve never read. Rushing the ending. Skipping through the best parts. Misplacing my grief just to find out what’s buried around it. Memories collide and I’m disoriented in my own mind. I wonder if it still belongs to me. Summer used to feel sloppy and free and deserving and healing. I guess I’m just looking for healing. Tell me, when do you think we stopped healing? Let our wounds bleed out. Scarred baby skin. You’ve lost your youth, kid. Growing pains, that’s what they all say. It’s part of sadness and life. It’s what makes ghosts real- and the summer fog that fell under moonlight was never real. It was their spirits saying hello I miss you dearly. And if I could hold that feeling inside me forever, I’d never let it leave. I’d hoard every piece of my youth with selfish intentions and I wouldn’t apologize for a fucking thing. Burn the book, let every chapter turn to ashes. Let it fall back into the earth and growth something worth saving. -AMT©️