the ducks waddled up for bread "I have nothing for you" I said.
the gusty air my far off stare
I'm not a fool, winter isn't over but my hope seems to be an overexposure
back to classes and homework away from my favorite artwork
seasonal sadness hit me too hard my thoughts for you have become avant-garde
yet somehow I don't even care what's the point of a love affair?
the sound of my dad’s guitar playing his favorite chords the typing of my mom’s fingers going through family records the smell of the ceramics studio full of the kiln, dust and glaze the running home
it’s the little things they always say like how you listen more than you ever have before or how you stopped opening my car door like how you squeeze me tighter in our hugs or how you don’t answer me
I cant remember the last photo i took maybe it was a mountain maybe my niece maybe myself maybe you looking away no matter what it was it’s the last thing my lense has seen which means it means everyt