become like children.

he picnics under
grey skies, storm
looming overhead
giggling and running and ceaselessly
marveling at the
beauty all around him

he never misses an opportunity to
stop and smell the flowers or
ask someone new to be friends or
hug someone sad or
clean up a mess or
any of the other little things i am
far, far too busy to even

he breathes with a
persistent internal melody
unencumbered by circumstance and
saturated with joy and
i want that


when nothing's been said and little's been done but it's still over.

i can never
apologize enough for my
imperfection, for never
being just what you
needed, because that was
all i ever

i know i can be
difficult and
entirely too
particular, but i also know that
someday, someone will
love me for me and i
will be happy and so
will you.