in the morning, she gets out of bed, being pulled up by the moon
and sometimes it’s a little sad, but she makes it seem just fine

the wild strands of her hair reminds her of yesterday—
how the castles fell apart again after she had rebuilt them with her own two hands

there was a meaningless buzz to the house that
enveloped the situation as she sat on her couch lounging, pondering

she whispers star language to the sun in the afternoon
and one can’t help but wonder if her soul had left her carcass

it’s like watching the shadows dance for a long time until
you realize you have been staring at nothing

for a long time she hasn’t felt this alive, and the flowers
bloom when she’s in sight, shrivel when she goes to bed

when the night draws the curtains she will look for cracks
all around the house she glides and swings and somehow,

everyone finds her to be perfect— but of course, she is.
isn’t it obvious? — that she’ll always love you, honey.

just not today.