I brewed myself a cup of sunlight
and poured it into my diary—
then drank the words,
one by one.

I folded my sorrow
into an envelope,
addressed it to nowhere,
and sent it away.

My shoes tied themselves backward,
and I walked a road
that didn’t exist,
floating between what could be
and the weight of now.

I took off my name,
hung it in the closet,
and wrapped myself in you.

The hours became feathers,
soft and weightless,
brushing the edges
of a dream.

By the next morning, I’d forgotten
how to be
anything else

but yours.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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