a haunting. a new season. the end of a cigarette, the soft bit of your elbow
a new colour. a better shade of burgundy. falling in love with strangers in the subway,
dancing in the dark, laughing too hard in chemistry class, reading second hand books
and the person who owned the book first has outlined their favourite quote with a highlighter
or scribbled in the margins. that weird feeling
of being young and feeling out of place, countryside distilling in your throat,
a raven on a telephone line. girls who cut their hair by themselves
houses full of ghosts. a feeling you don’t have a name for. a loneliness that’s soft.
the aftermath of a hickey. the quietness of a ghost town. the loudness of a fail grade.
the way the flowers grow, twisting. my past, my present, my future.
a dream that’s blown out of glass. a dream that’s pressed into pages of your favourite book.
growing up like willow trees. carrying the weight of cemeteries.
this chai is warm but winter&