june 10th

june 10, 2020

everything is a story and stories are nothing but birds that flock together and giggle at the sights of new birth. 

i will write in this room with my journal on my knee and my back to my colorless bed where i find peace and nirvana in a room on an early june day. poetics. i hear the birds chirp and see glimpses of my outline in the vanity to my side. i see the arch of my bottom, the dip and incline of my back, and the very top of my head, cut right before my forehead touches my eyes. anonymity. but if i tilt my head just right i catch the eyebrows arch and the eyes of a woman in wonder. 

but my neck gets tired, so i put her to rest. it’s funny how when she leaves, it leaves you with the feeling that she was never really there. peach gold. windows open, but the fan is what gives us wind. that will do for now - and as for later? for then, i will meet her when she comes. reintroducing myself to the woman in the mirror. the one i remember i’ve met before.