where have my words gone

I.
when we walked beneath a bridge at night, both afraid but not willing to admit it, made jokes and laughed with extra volume; how it felt to press my forehead to your spine, falling asleep in my older sister's bed because she was never there and you always were, just for that summer; fishes crafted of iridescent ribbon, tethered to their mobile as they swam small swirls into the air.

II.
what can i teach or learn or sing, writing from memories?

III.
touching down felt like breaking the surface, like we had been living our lives underwater and this was the air, this was the land and this is where the plane took me back to breathe. everything was open: the sky, the mountains, the cactus and their arms. everything was faded, bleached, fresh with dust and too much sun. they appeared in the sunsets, in the wind that whipped the palms trees, in the miniature dust devils, and in the fragrant citrus branches; i took deep breathes, i harbored them in my lungs, and held them in my arms- then i let them go.

IV.
i wish i had kept some, just a few to take back with me. there is no desert here, we do not live in an oven, and we are not surrounded by hostile plants. my lungs are only full of air, my arms are empty and so is my mind. empty empty empty.





_{[I don't know, I really don't know, I'm just going to keep writing and hopefully someday I'll look at what I'm writing and know what's going on again, I don't care if it's stupid or ugly or pointless, I just miss writing so much and I don't really have anything to write about except things that make me sad but if I don't write about them then it makes them ten times harder to figure out and I just want to figure them out! that's all I want to do!]}