Sometimes, a sunrise and two days of long walks and a plate of pasta and mugs of coffee and the sun warming your bones can turn into the softest birthday gift.
A tiny memo saying that it’s okay if stumble, that it’s fine to not be too hard on yourself.
But for some reason, I hold tight to all trivial excuses and lighthearted talks, stupid water wings I insist to wear not to go deep.
Legs crossed under a table too tiny for my uncoordinated manners, following stars calculated to spans
SO GET OUT THERE, PLAY YOUR CARDS AND TURN YOUR LIFE INTO POETRY.