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strands || strings


written october 2021


it is fall. i am twenty eight years-old.


i pick grass strands from my hair almost every night before i go to bed.

i spend more time dancing than ever.

i call everyone love.


i stopped myself last week when i almost said “it’s alright love,” to a man who was apologizing for his dog.

{next time, i will not hold back}


if i form my life with a love, we will pick grass strands out of one another’s hair each night before bed.


i say a lot of prayers to the skies these days.

love feels closer and less tangible than ever.

i release tears and giddy laughter every single day.


my dog knows the part of our walk when i stop to smell our neighbor’s rosemary. he smiles at me as if to say “you’re sniffing too!”


my nails are usually painted black, though sometimes they are very chipped.

my hair is always a bit messy.


my best friend is katy. we were roommates for four years. she is a sister, a soulmate and an angel in human skin. she may never see this, but i hope she does.


when she moved out earlier this year, i was unprepared for the loneliness.


i morphed.


last night i danced around my living room humming, lighting candles and eating a beet.


i fucking love beets.


and am the most connected to the earth that i have ever been.


i just picked grass out of my hair and now it is on the floor and i am sending hopes for the day when my floor holds your hair’s grass strands too.


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