mourning the innards of what was.

“I said nothing for a time, just ran my fingertips along the edge of the human-shaped emptiness that had been left inside me.” 
― Haruki MurakamiBlind Willow, Sleeping Woman

Drink in all this silence. If we are to search out each others’ scientific notations, then it should really be called bellow.

Decide when you want to say goodbye. You lose parts of you all the time. Flakes of skin leave evidence of where you were everyday on every surface.

This hair is deathly, so might as well drench it in the brightest hues to compete with the vitamins found in sun.

What is left behind can also be titled: love letters to the cement of city.

Take a deep breath. Inhale the shards of overwhelm. Step away. Walk back. Trace the outline of shadows steaming open skin. Try not to question the gaps. All that is here is also a part of there.

Sshhhh. Hear that? Keep listening until you can sort through the disconnect and connect what asks to be understood.