the air is light, I know who I am

poetry straight from my notes app

It is September and you no longer speak of things you once believed defines you. The sun burns far more than the memories: and the beads of sweat on your skin says: I am grateful to be alive! You toast your bread twice. You stop on the sidewalk to tie your undone laces. You stick your hands in the soil and watch as the seeds of your grievances grow large and wild. Then, like the budding irises of spring, your heart is flooded with the thought: there is more than the reality I confined myself to.

For a moment: you breathe in the still air, and realise time is your friend.