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Artistic Flare by Hyla

OK fine. Tell them I was the literacy instructor, if anyone asks a few years from now. 

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Sometimes when you don’t know how to say goodbye, people will find you and say “Hello” instead. “Good to meet you,” they say. “We missed you too,” they say. And they will hand you a poem and then you look around and see that all the goodbyes are done, and there is nothing more to say, because they were full and happy and started a long time ago.

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When it got cold, oh we bundled up.

It can’t be told, it can’t be done...Sings the faraway campfire. We’re barefoot on the dew and thick grass. Stretched out, feet bare and warm. It looks like the smoke is sinking and the stars fading away. 

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I don't think you've left yet

Says my mom while we stand together in the thrift store, my arms full of small dresses and boardgames and school backpacks. Fake pink flowers that the cubs will put in their hair. 

My mom might be right. Still, we are a long way away and these things will travel far. 

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