quiet moments
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There are nightswhen the world expects meto carry everythingwith steady hands. The memories.The grief.The questionsthat never learnedhow to answer themselves. So I step outside. The air is cool,the stars indifferent,and the lighter clickslike the beginningof a conversation. The smoke doesn’t promiseto fix me. It doesn’t erasethe empty chairs,the court dates,or the namesI still whisperwhen no…
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It’s four in the morning. The world has gone quiet,but my mind never got the memo. The clock keeps counting secondslike they’re something I can spend,while I bargain with sleepthat refuses to bargain back. The house is still.The coffee pot is empty.The moon watcheswithout offering advice. So I stand barefootin front of the refrigerator,bathed in…
Between Bruises and Blooms 