I’m sorry to prove God wrong, I’m sorry to alter his plans. But in them I saw I was meant to leave you, and this is what I said:

I should’ve known. After all, I never wanted to write about you anyways.

Yesterday, I almost called to ask if you’d seen our town’s rainbow yet. Disregarding either answer entirely, I would have explained each of it’s colors with as much detail as a snowflake under inspect...

I opened like two rose gold, French gates leading into a pasture of flowers and dew. You opened like the parted sea, roaring with waves of things you’ve held back and body’s you sucked in.

I have wet hair; I’m cold and I’d like to nestle up against your warm skin. I’d really like to use my fingertips to trace a few words as well.

Fate can be fatal

A kiss
 Choreographed through rage and with bliss

Sometimes a lover and a stranger are the same