(no subject)
Dear . . . dear . . . dear. . .
I wish that secrets could really be kept inside seashells, pink and twisted like the ear of a small child.
That people attatched their hearts to red balloons, sending them into the sky with serendipitous intentions.
and that experience could be cried into teacups to drink.
. . .despite the stack of books on my floor, the lines on my palm,and the beetle within the cracks of a sidewalk. The omens are within my mind, the stars are not aligned.
I wish that secrets could really be kept inside seashells, pink and twisted like the ear of a small child.
That people attatched their hearts to red balloons, sending them into the sky with serendipitous intentions.
and that experience could be cried into teacups to drink.
. . .despite the stack of books on my floor, the lines on my palm,and the beetle within the cracks of a sidewalk. The omens are within my mind, the stars are not aligned.