words and shit

Libra, Aquarius, and Cancers — three tides pulling at the same restless shore, each carrying a storm beneath their calm, a revolution wrapped in fragile skin. Libra walks a tightrope…

Love’s a loaded gun with no safety— I kissed the barrel, dared it to save me. Midnight prayers in a language we made, Tongues like switchblades, vows like grenades. You…

They named a storm after me -and I ain’t even flinch-. Didn’t need no forecast to know -I’d tear shit down and baptize it holy-. Skies don’t cry — -they…

By the time you read this, I imagine the silence between us will already feel like a season. And still, I needed to write you, because not every goodbye is…