i feel dizzy with
the strange warmth of the pebbles under my
feet. living is
hard, but dying
is harder.


one day, we will
die. though
it sounds so big and pretentious and such a lie but
it will be on quiet evenings and
cold wars. it will be between children's laughs
and those trees that bloomed so beautifully but
too early and all
withered. we won't know.


one day, sicknesses will
become things we can't heal
with coffee fortunes. that day,
i will want to crawl beneath your
words that always
have something to say on
their own. i will be afraid
to do so.


kind of weird. the clamant
thought that one day, i will turn
my head and you won't have lame
jokes and philosophical flutterings to
tuck between the holes of my soul. I will
laugh with others but it won't sound the
same.


living is hard, looking
through these unreachable
windows and watching it
pass by. the birds seem to
carry it away in between their wings. dying
is harder.

birds come back every winter.