when i was feeling poetic, i wrote some things which may or may not be terrible.

…

sheets of crumpled paper
ink stains the pages
so many letters have i written for you.

…

fresh lines of worry cut across my face.
i hope this world comes back to me
for i adore it.

…

riding on the train, riding with the train. i am there underneath the carriage, i can feel the clicking of the wheels on the tracks. sunlight streams and flickers through the windows in time, as hundreds of white butterflies flutter above the grass outside. i drift in and out of sleep as jenny lewis croons to me. she sings of love and sadness. it’s all fresh, and through the music i know she knows the feeling of it all.

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