Sifting through old journals, I came across some words from 2017 that really resonate with me now. Funny how your younger self can teach you a thing or two about feeling. Feels like I’m getting older.

in and out of life,

you came and went,

and flames burnt,

you scarred yourself into the palms of my hand,

and we woke up lost again.

i tried to take it all in,

hold onto your touch,

sugary smell, like home but warmer —

and when we laughed

I bottled it up like a music box.

the pictures are burnt on the backs of my eyeballs,

it will take some time to carve out and sift,

woken up, i’ll be somewhere else, and we —

we won’t exist anymore.

I write to remind, to forget, to not-think —

because there will come a time —

we will both become stories of youth.