heyhanananah
I think I caught a glimpse of you. You wore that mustard-colored cardigan I made for you. You said you were not really crazy about the color but since you love the works of my hand, you'll wear it. I picked that color because it reminds me of how you brighten me up like how the sun bleeds mustard when it rises. I'm surprised, really, that you still wear that cardigan now that we are no longer together. I gives me this bitter-sweet hope that the sun will rise for us again.
I don’t know why you give me emotions that are all together foreign and familiar. It’s frustrating and I don’t know why I still hold on for you. You’re familiar to me, I’m familiar to you, but we’re not familiar. “We” are foreign. I don’t know why I’m stupid enough to hold on and linger on these thoughts of “us”. I guess it’s because I’m still hoping. I’m hoping for you to notice our similarities and not our differences. As long as we keep the border lines, we’re foreign.
I took hold of the book and slowly peeled a soft, thin, transparent plastic that separates me from the words that I am hungry to read and get lost in.
This word got me thinking of clouds. A group of clouds aren't called flocks but that's what I can think of.