january

i remember: this day one year ago. the way the dizzying night sky rolled out around me, like a legend aching to be told. how we named the constellations, just like in my stories. and it felt like a dream, or something. maybe it was. i don’t know.

i remember chocolate birthday cake, and long walks through the city, and now you’re crying in my arms and i don’t know what to do; can’t tell the difference between holding a bird in my palms and crushing its wings. but we’re gonna work something out, i promise you.

i remember it all cast in gold, because it’s easy, and it’s so beautiful. until i look out my window, and the grass isn’t greener—it’s ashy and yellow, starved out by the cold. 

but i remember the hungry forest as a lark in the park, and the smoke in my lungs as a warm embrace. which is something i’m working on, okay?

i remember orange juice and board games; counting down the seconds, ’til the january fog crept in, and swallowed me whole.

i can’t promise you the world. but i can say… that i’ll try my best. that i will never give up, or break a promise. and i’m still learning, how to cry and breathe and rest. but it’ll come to me, eventually. just… gonna need some practise.

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