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If it weren't for the sky, I’m not sure where we’d be. 

The sky can never be us, we are not the passing clouds, but 

We are all something, making the most known effort possible to be either everything, 

Or nothing. 

She watched as her counterparts walked past her, their hands clenched around a cup she knew

Held straight black coffee and hers rested around a mug. 

Bright green walls, bright green that reminded her of her mother, why she wasn’t sure, but 

Wooden countertops laced the space behind her, rubbed raw by cloths held by a barista who held a fake smile on the tip of her tongue for those who walked in… if lavender flowers could be anything other than what they already were, she’d decided they would be poisonous, the opposite of what they were in that moment, that seemed to be true for most things, especially people.

Her counterparts drank matcha maybe, it’d always tasted like overly sweet grass to her and black coffee gave her the need to leave and run away in a blue van in california, but the green of the shop around her was comfortable…

I’ll leave a penny for your thoughts if you tell me about the rain. 

Why it moves the way it does.

Who it lost, who it let go, and who it never found. 

I’ll write you fairytales in exchange for your broken heart, see if I can patch it up with stories.

I am broken and broken and broken still and in the last two seconds I did not heal, did not respawn, what do you think is going to happen if I let go…?

Everyday we try to become something, something bigger, something better, something that maybe hurts less, I don’t mean to write something so depressing but everything stings more the more I think about it.

If we aren’t for the sky, then what’re we supposed to be? I don’t believe in heaven nor hell, but 

There is nothing left for us here otherwise. 

I am falling into somewhere between oblivion and longing, this life would be perfect except for all these little things. 

We are not the passing clouds, not the falling rain, perhaps we are the bright green walls and straight black coffee, run away in a blue van to California.

I’m the barista holding that fake smile, allergic to lavender so I guess it really did get the chance to show its poison, I think I’m the rain, lost and found and let go and brought back. 

I’ll wander, but I’ll always come back to you.