I am 23 years old and still come crying to my mother.
You find yourself hollowed out, the appetizer before the main course. People don’t come back for you.
Your hands didn’t even tremble as you flung me in purgatory.
My heart is on the edge from being so full. I cannot tell if I am crying from laughter or from loving you so much.
It’s a bizarre thing to think about, but horrible sadness can actually remind you how loved you truly are.
I have to steal moments from memories.
What if that was the cure, Dad? What if hugging you made it all okay?
The man standing on the beach that day, said he was the man with the iron heart.
Breaking away from a, what’s the medical term they use? Sociopath.
I read the last paragraph of my favorite book. I remind myself that some things I love end.