I found us sleeping there. The light casting shadows off your lashes, standing like redwoods, as I sank down to be held.
I just know.
That in a million years when they brush the dust off my grave, archeologists like realists with diplomas will confuse my bones with yours.
Maybe we held hands for too long and parts of your hands will be used as
my ribcage and a bit of your skull will be confused with my collarbones and
they will never know what exactly. But their sheets will feel be warmer at
night.
-tara j
"archeologists like realists with diplomas will confuse my bones with yours."
ReplyDeleteStop. You're not even allowed to write stuff like this. Just stop. You need to be famous for writing.
Sighing. Oh my gosh.
ReplyDeletethings I want to do:
ReplyDeletehug you
hug both of you
retweet this
grab this (if it were tangible) and cry on it.
I don't even know how to react to this except maybe cry a little and eat some carbs and read it again and then rinse and repeat. Like, what? I want to be you when I grow up.
ReplyDeleteK now it's your turn to have a really beautiful post. And this is it. PS, I like that you would listen to all my in the morning songs, but just listening to them isn't to cut it. I need you to buy them.
ReplyDeleteT - someone must have told you that you have a way with words. And they were right. Your words are...well, for lack of more fitting word...amazing.
ReplyDeleteHoly crap. I don't know how I didn't know where your blog was before, because this is gold. Love it all.
ReplyDelete