Stardust ✨

We are so kind to everyone else but so cruel to ourselves.

Rebel little otter with a heart full of strings that just waits for a quiet afternoon under a clear sky.

Pumpkin patch visits by memories you were never sure they existed in the first place.

The leaves come close, just like our dreams and afterthoughts.

Kiss me folklore-like.

So many things are fragments of what they used to be, but we love them even more; we are attached to words that may mean nothing but, to us, they are the universe of this innocent world, like what we were when we were young.

I wonder if you ever look back at what you achieved and what you didn't, and you feel like an old book somewhere inside a dusty library. I wonder if you count the people who walk in and out and how many dreams they remind you of. Are you who you always wanted to become, even now?

I no longer fear time, but I fear being reminded of time.

Remind me of the politics of wanderlust, the thoughts that we should not keep close, yet here they are, intensely and abruptly penetrating each and every one of our body cells.

The era of micropoetry seems to have settled behind us, but we are cups made of china and flowers, our outsides riddled with stories of a past that knows no bounds. We are fragile and still warm, the coffee inside us still whispering stories.

The cost of being us, how brightly we die in these moments, how endlessly we hope we never do.

The stars would want to write the way we do.

Words full of ghosts, and I am yours truly.

I did not mean to keep thinking of you, but these eyes of mine are their own choices and cannot go back to being blind.