Dec 16, 2021
Where do I put all this melancholic ache? I feel like a bookshelf stuffed too full of old notebooks. Everything is a memory I wish I was holding back then or with different hands. I remember having different names and languages without patchwork mending running down the whole of me. I am so big I’ve grown to accommodate even the years I didn’t want as they were happening they lie in me like small animals. Some days there’s not enough space in the bed for everyone I’ve become. - Small Animals