I know it’ll pass but the lonely is strong when I don’t want to cry into my pillow, filling it with my hurt because I want to be held. When I want to cry into a chest more resilient than mine in the moment. To be pulled in tighter than I can hug myself. The … Continue reading The Lonely Hour
Writing is a passion that I shall learn to miss when I have no desire to fill blank lines with words that matter even if they only matter to me.
We know your thinking holds consequences and it tries to bury our truths but our truths are seeds and will always bear fruit.
The moon knows there are stories here.
It waits for them to be told as if history preludes it.
As if the stories will change when spoken again.
As if the stories mattered.
I love to write, therefore I will write. Does it have to make sense to everyone? No.