i love finding tidbits that i wrote about a boy two and a half years ago.
it’s hard to fathom that he is mine,
even after nine months.
if you want to find the biggest asshole at a party, leave an acoustic guitar out
i have a photo
that no one has seen
of a boy
who is no longer living.
i didn’t know him at the time.
i never knew him.
i never will.
i keep it
he looks more alive in the photo
than i have ever felt.
knowing the dance to this is as close as i get to zumba. or working out.
the spells of bathe-less days
only to met by ones of obsessive cleanliness