Photo by Pixabay from Google Images. Licensed under Creative Commons.
#130
i develop
feelings
for a
stranger on
the train
whose face
i
never
see
#134
i'm too busy writing a book about what it was like to be eighteen, what it was like to wish everything was made of gold, what it was like to eat a watermelon to the rind with my brother and let the juice fall down our chins. i'm too busy writing a book about what it's like to be nineteen, to feel like the air is always made of liquid metal and to always be waiting for the next early morning dream that's going to become my favorite. i'm already writing a book about what it's like to be twenty and i'm not even twenty yet but i already know what july is going to feel like on my skin, i've already found a home that actually wants to be my home.