I want to know where it all started...
From being certain about my brave narratives to not being able to voice any of my verses. From enjoying a nice cup of tea because it compliments my reading at 3 am's, to no! maybe, too much sugar at odd hours. From thinking and almost being in resolve that I could basically make it fun to being silenced by their lack of energy. I want to know how much is ever enough? Because now my body doesn't feel good about you. I want to know where it started. From me being able to build my own happiness to being bare that even appearing normal exhausts me. From believing that all of this every bit of this, is all from genuine love to learn to give in filtered pieces.
But I know where it started. I do.
It started when I poured more than what your fill deserved.
I can see my own desolation.
I fear, I fear how much I can easily destroy. So I frame her again and again in hopes one day she'll become someone palpable.
11th note from old winter, Wind at 5:45.













