The top of the trees
young and green
swaying in front of a bright blue background
We can’t walk back along our timline
but we can
oh we can
Have you never wandered the road where you learned how to bike?
Touched the doorframe you used to grab while swinging around fastly
chasing a friend
a birthday surprise
Your timeline is written in footsteps,
through mud and concrete.
and bleeding hands
the stretch of grass
Not your memories
but your actual line of time.
all up in the trees
all around the garden
My mum hung these blue curtains,
and I sit on the mattress.
There’s a weight like a rock at the bottom of my heart.
I am not visiting.
The trees, this window:
they’re seemingly permanent.
It seems I can’t get away
but if there’s purpose I dropped along these roads I can’t remember it
I think: I have so much more of that in the future,
why am I still sitting here,
all tangled up in red.
Ahhh this soo good! I love the sentimental ness and nostalgia of it.