When I left, I left dishes. Food. Cooking utensils. A website password. A key. Boxes. Memories. And one final message that still said, “I love you.” Funny thing about surviving— sometimes love is the very last thing to pack.
A poetry library for the things that bruise us, the things that bloom anyway, and everything we become in between.
When I left, I left dishes. Food. Cooking utensils. A website password. A key. Boxes. Memories. And one final message that still said, “I love you.” Funny thing about surviving— sometimes love is the very last thing to pack.
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