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I like to think of myself as an old leather journal, with thick pages that have dark ink scribbled all over them. There are lines through entire pages, and ink blots where great ideas have flowed. Yet all the same I am someone to cherish, to remember

Message from Writer

"But here is the truth of nostalgia: we don't feel it for who we were, but who we weren't. We feel it for all the possibilities that were open for us, but that we didn't take."
-Welcome to Night Vale

You and I

January 25, 2016


If I came to you one day,
and everything inside of me was finally coming undone,
would you stop just to remind me of how far I’ve come?

If I reached my trembling hand out to you,
and stood with doe eyes wet from the past,
would you slips your hand into mine?

If I didn’t move from that small safe spot,
and the end of the world was fast on my heels,
would you pull me with you to safety?

If I appeared to you late one night alone,
and couldn’t manage the racing thoughts ripped through my mind,
would you let me borrow the silence you have?

If I sat at the edge of the world with my legs swinging,
and was teetering on the brink of insanity,
would you sit with me and watch the dizzying sun rise?

If I begged you to run away with me,
and I had all of my things in a bag ready to go,
would you hand me a book to escape within and tell me to stay.

But if I don’t come to you one day,
because everything inside of me had finally come undone,
will you at least stop every once and awhile just to re-say “goodbye.”


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