five things.

five things.

i. what you don't understand and maybe never will is that i keep chasing these city lights like they'll lead me home, i would say if i craved pavements and a small cranny in a town easy to be swallowed up by. but i don't. i am undone by the snap of apples from trees and dusty backroads, brought to pieces and fragmented by the many ways of morning on fields finding autumn. you need the city, yes, but i need a place far from those black tar roads.

ii. eggs in the morning and bare feet in the grass. tell me i am a symphony that will last longer than the sustained note. sooner or later, the piano will fall mute, but does that make us deaf? you can find me in the daybreak and i will be singing in these plains like they are my own.

iii. let me be your last goodbye and you can be my only hello. i still cry at firsts and i still cry at lasts even though sometimes i can't tell the difference.

iv. in the summer it slowed and we danced. i will write that someday with hands wrinkled by a life of holding close and in my hands i will let go let go let go so that others may hold on. passing down traditions like family heirlooms is more than telling. it takes a lifetime to learn how to let go and not lose it, how to give and keep.

v. and one day, you will understand that this was your life. there will be a knock at the door or the deepest of breaths or one last laugh cry word. i hope you remember each sunrise and i hope that you can name all the colors that were your favorite and i hope there are memories intertwined with each shade. mostly, i hope you will breathe out joy because this world is too heavy and you're going home. (yes)