I knit my hands inside nets of sky.

Just be fucking honest about how you feel about people while you’re alive.

my dear, who told you your skin wasn’t beautiful. you are the color of the earth and flowers can only grow in deep rich soil.

I’m not fascinated by people who smile all the time. What I find interesting is the way people look when they are lost in thought, when their face becomes angry or serious, when they bite their lip, the way they glance, the way they look down when they walk, when they are alone and smoking a cigarette, when they smirk, the way they half smile, the way they try and hold back tears, the way when their face says they want to say something but can’t, the way they look at someone they want or love… I love the way people look when they do these things. It’s beautiful.

then laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph

and death i think is no parenthesis

…there was cement in her soul. It had been there for a while, an early morning disease of fatigue, shapeless desires, brief imaginary glints of other lives she could be living, that over the months melded into a piercing homesickness.