When my soul swirls, dusting in the ashes, I don't recognize who I am. I take everything even if it means I can't make the people around me smile.
Striking, peeling, aching, until I no longer can stand.

You'll miss her. I won't.
my anxiety will wait for me under the tree, my heart doesn't notice its presence, and it arrives thirty minutes late.
It's a rapid flow of burnt energy, trying to trick me into believing I'm tired.
I fall for it every time.