Flowers

On new neighbourhood rites.

On not writing

The problem with writing is I do not know if words are the very things I would most like to keep out.

The unboxing

There are things I'm hoping to find when the dust settles, and I tick them off like a grocery list I made when I still believed there could be a way to fill this house with light. Oranges, for the way I felt when busses took me to places I couldn't name, purified water for...

Nothing like a horse

If there was anything else to drink, we would happily forget how the rain is made and never again believe in the colour blue.

By the lake

In another life, all I would do is find new names for the colour green, and it would be enough.

On grief

The end of a world as we know it.

The seasons

There will always be time to dance from now on; it is that kind of season.

Oranges pt. 2

It’s not easy coming home.

Oranges

Speaking about sunshine and the ocean and not speaking about either.

Still

On familiar February's and the different shades of not knowing what happens next.