there is something gentle

that this breeze has

carried in

through my window

alongside summer

i can barely feel my hands

as this feeling wades and stumbles

through the thickest

of thorns

it is a bright little thing

that makes me write

small yet big, leftovers of feelings like these

colors

that we march towards

a tomorrow we may never know

hands twined together

like the vines on my living room’s walls

painted

onto bricks like scars i want you to

trace

with your hands

and only yours

i don’t know if i will ever know

the person i think you may be

sometimes

it scares me

but it is nice

this thing