today i remember many stories, wnt to hear? wandering how my mind's just gone blank; but imagines a project with an optimistic start, catching it at just the right time's a most importants.

February

i've got it, finally, mostly sure: subtle and pitiless, me, dried eyes almost like they felt that way all along. less and less of myself feeling, oh, again, and you! i see you, those birds have confused the natural progress of things, little chickens hatching in a shiver, february now, two days of holidays and i figured that magic would have it that today something clicked in, romantic and predetermined. i heard the error in the day, saw you, back to that: i know i'm the only one who has seen that your eyes and your lips match exactly, oh and your skin, and the color of your hair too, all of them sitting there in plaid. pretty, in th eopen window of a valentine hangover, the beautiful one though, woke up with fingers sleeping in warm absences, too perfect not to ruin.

waking up, sleepy sounds dull, drone, touch, wrongly kissed. mood dumbly undisguised, and charmed in plato-nic flattery. beautiful again, i made something you didn't see.

everything gonna change

i was just sitting here and thinking about a memory, vague and broad, of being sixteen. driving and feeling excited about each thing, little, i was myself. and then if someone wanted to hear what i knew, like we had never shared such simple things before, ideas that seemed big. sitting on the hoods of our cars, feeling so good at understanding our ideas.

so then, this thought, more specifically wondering how much harder it is to listen when we're not so enchanted anymore by our biggest realizations. i keep having them, finding them more difficult and less interesting to share. so then, this: what if i jst kept them to myself, like would they still be grand, true, and important? keeping me mouthes shut, now.