he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him

i planted this tree maybe 10 years ago. i remember when the low branches were scrawny arms. fingers, practically. i remember them holding on to their wobbly leaves in fall, hanging on, like a teenager clinging to her parents’ god.

whenever i go home after seeing you i feel like i've just watched a movie and i could weep for it all.

when people get a glimpse of me i'd like them to feel like it is a good omen

i wrote a long love letter to you, because i found it too hard to write a short one

i’d teach the hills to say her name, and the winds and the trees and water, too, so that that the elements would love her, so that everywhere she went, no matter where, she’d hear the world crying out for her, calling over and over.

if respect is the only thing protecting you from a knife in the back, then respect is nothing right?

the dawn was breaking the bones of your heart like twigs

she’s the first thing i think of when i wake up, the last thing i think of when i go to sleep, and the only thing i think about in between.

he’s more myself than i am. whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same