I find comfort in knowing that birds migrate north when the air gets cold. They’re smart enough to get out before it’s too late-
I’ve always been jealous of that

Our skin replaces itself every thirty-five days and our tastebuds regenerate every ten, which means soon you’ll be rid of the crime scene of their touch,

Ten days from now you won’t be able to taste them in your morning coffee

And it will keep getting easier

There will be sunsets that don’t look like their soft face just before your eyes flutter to dark

Your body will feel like an open road

instead of a windstorm

This storm will stop shattering, teetering,

bitterness will come to a fearless halt

There will be deafening silence, flowers growing out of your ache-

and you will belong to yourself again