Gone are the words I had left to say.
With the spring of our lives still hot in our heels, karaoke nights and days for the deers. Snow can wait, I have hot coals burning my pockets.
There was so much, so much I wanted to say but I forgot it. I left all those words in between blankets and broken closets. Houses I will never visit again, beds I never slept in. Chile flakes burning my tongue, cats scratching my hand, and those karaoke nights. They all stole the words from me.
All the puzzle pieces of that picture from which to take without thinking, yet new pieces keep coming -the spring is still warming. It's a new picture, same but older, same but different, same but wordless. All the words that were forgotten.
And we eat grapes but we don't hear the music, and we go to our place and burn through our stupid, and I see the words that I wrote while we were off our faces 'remember winter 2022'.
'What the fuck are perfect places anyway'.
