Alessandra G.

Sometimes it’s nice to see a familiar face.
Even if it belongs to the wirey greyhound, who traipses around the neighboring backyard.
An old friend I’ve hardly seen, but where she leads me is coated in cognizance.

It seems everyone longs for another time,
Vacancy consuming us in our whole.
The melody once we yearned for is no longer recognizable, and the world
Becomes a scary place.

No tears for the night, no tears for the night. Is what I whisper into my little sister’s disarray of hair.