if i am holding
there are little thoughts forcing themselves forward and through moist lips i'd tell you if you'd like to listen to stories, or dreams. i am.. content with my existence
and the universe, with my seemingly unprovoked laughter and a lack of anyone to share it with. i am alive, very much so and did you know that the trees don't remember you when their leaves fall.. they can not wave
or drop down to meet you, they just are, still and quiet and brittle, they always seem so fragile when the cold surrounds them.
text does not come so easily to lost head wandering around sticks and twigs
that cause stumble, pick yourself up you are not the earth or sand.
i don't like to focus my eyes when i am typing here for you, all of you even though you'd think perhaps i was doing it for myself but, never
. i really do not want to write for me most times. i forget the things that poured out of my head moments after they do, unless i repeat. i don't like to repeat. i don't like redundancy. sometimes i can't speak because i am afraid i may have said something similar or.. there were no smiles on the wind. it wasn't cold or warm or even alive
. there were just pieces of some lost heart. every heart is lost they said but it was a lie. mine is not. i just gave it away
, i know exactly where it is.