The archives of life are just so beautiful. We are a series of problems, solutions and resolutions, I think —
influenced by the characters and settings we are willing to let in.
The pages we write for ourselves rest on shelves; the change in our fonts eager to be noticed.
2wice yesterday, I was reminded that
time never lasts that long, nor long enough
it only twists and tides
carrying us into the next chapter…
The museum of my life
holds all of my journals, glass-cased.
Nothing to rewrite,
only moments to re-love.