there’s something strangely

calming

about the deep roll of thunder

//

when you’re inside.

i think they call it the sublime.

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sweat, er.. weather

would this sweater be too much?

it’s just to take advantage of the cold to

wear something

i can stretch out in / snuggle into. even if i keep the fan on like

a mountain breeze.

i miss… / that

we try to talk without really saying

much of anything, we talk around

things, even though

(there is so much) i want to… (express). we try not to since

i think, someone once told us

there is a line here. they told us

it looks like a tripwire. we never checked,

why is that line here? it looks like a puppet

string.

let me put on my sweater.

she wasn’t there

yet, but

that she could even be on this

journey was a privilege

in and of itself, she wished

she could pull that

perspective out of her pocket

please for the times she just wanted

to sleep | in the forest | in the hellish dark

 

she knew where she wanted to go

now from a strong and quiet

lake in her heart it wasn’t

screaming

at her anymore because she

had cupped her ear to it, allowed it to exist in the

openness she let herself climb her own

steep

soul. it gave her stillness. she hoped for moonlight.