Hope is this thing Hope is this thing birds do in mud puddles. I feel the edge of the pin I stand on. Jump forward or fall back. Backwards is yesterday and forwards are tomorrows. I don't remember in my 20's being around in tomorrows of my 30's.
Still smell the gas of the old stoves in forgotten homes on the edge of door hinges. Am I still on the floor in a missing kitchen? I hope not. Rubbing the points polaroids thinking about the best apothecary I ever met and if they exist in this timeline?
Imaging the curly hairs ringing in my fingers as we melt deeply under the stars. Can't be dreaming..... endless minds can't feel the deep that makes beg for smell her lips leave on my upper lip.
Pile of Polaroids.
hope is rain