blueness, bluer than you or me blues in the morning in the evening

The pursuit of light is a pilgrima… A resolute march towards gilded ho… To follow the sun is to chase cons… To linger for brilliance unbroken. Yet, even the sun is not endless.

I do not pray. I believe in this hum. The static between fingertips. How the sadness

I must learn to be gentle –contempt eye rolling mockery. I love you for how you drink two gallons

There are pieces of the sun fragmented in all of us.

This casual “hey,” is too heavy for me, to hold with one hand. A dense weight pressing down. Invisible,

Sundays were never mine, in design or desire. They are half-warm, half-true. And I never learnt to play.

I belong elsewhere— Do not tempt me.

They say following the sun is truly a journey of conviction. A stead-fast walk— where this warmth resides.

She is the sun, —Unforgivingly, Achingly bright. To linger is to blister and blind.

I am almost someone, you were waiting for. I seek forgiveness hoping you may recall what I have long since forgotten.

I often try to carry this solace, and just like when we take ourselves off when we are sad,

To me, we are both lonely. I sit comfortably with silence. Let it braid itself into

It’s really is a most foolish belief, an assurance of regret even. To think that we will one day

A rich start in the city, same old daughter, just a touch less pretty. You play your games with me, your version of hide and seek.