writing down the bones alone/ with the aid of poets and songwriters. a place to be safe in a unsafe world.
kat finley
Sunday, May 10, 2020
I miss your sweetness, how gentle you always were with me. I miss the way your laundry smells. I miss how small my hand felt in yours, and how safe I felt when I was with you. I miss so many things at five am, as I stand here folding.
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