raw journal

Photograph by Georgia Crum

one.

i knew i did not stand a chance (from

the very moment i met you)

two.

you caught me at a point in my life where

my shadow was complaining about never

following joy (my most exuberant of emotions

were shoved away in the dustiest corners

of my mind), and i spent my time trying to

convince her that i was someone worth trailing

three.

you came along, gently whispering words

tasting of sunshine and cinnamon and

commending the parts of me no one else

seemed to cheer for

four.

falling (i’ve always been afraid of heights)

was learning to love in a language i didn’t

quite understand, in unspoken words i didn’t

have the courage to hoist out of my chest

five.

if anyone were to undress the layers

of shy clothing my heart, they’d find

your fingerprints

six.

sometimes it feels as if when you grab

my hand (jokingly, you don’t feel the

way i do) it’s like i’m holding on to

the next seventy years of my life, and

when your eyes meet mine i’m staring at

my future in a one-to-one meeting, trying

to determine what kind of story this will

turn out to be

seven.

my mama has always said that i was born

a galaxy with star-kissed skin, and i can’t

help but hope that you’re the one with

telescope eyes praying to make sense

of the constellations between us