like a church, without the echo.

my love is in this place, runs through it
like blushed cheeks, and wind
carries our laughter.

it helps to read (about) other people's pain

 it helps to cradle your own, in the crook of your elbow like
a catch in the throat, like pulling off a sweater's static cling and
stripping down to nothing but a a set of teeth for eating and
a set of eyes for tearing up when you feel human enough

don't don't
make anything
you're not willing
to see destroyed