emptyharbour

All the days are so fast that I can never hold onto them, all smooth and slippery. There are never any seconds to sleep when they're all spent speaking, seeking every way we can to stretch out the hours like taffy, endless and sweet. I don't know, it all sometimes feels okay these days, heavy but loose, letting all the air rush in. Right there in front of me, a big bright light. Things inside of me have been closed up rapid-fire; bright black stitches run straight down the middle of me. Today, I took the photograph of you, that serious look I realize you never wanted to be captured, and thought maybe I should tuck it away, out of view. Every right thing seems always to come at the wrong time.