she's birdsong. loud, beautiful birdsong and you can't see where it's all coming from but it's there and that's all that matters. she's flipping through a cd case looking for the perfect album to play. falling asleep in the living room because you were too tired to go upstairs. long chats with friends about the unrequited or our very own psyche. only caring about another's stance, without asking oneself before all else. roses, carnations, tulips. the smell of spring, peaches, indigo buntings. she's sweaty palms and entwined fingers. she's clutching, grasping, holding. wanted, unintentional saltwater and papercuts. a loving mother, a best friend, a best friend. she's halloween walks and exchanging stories, she's childhood, she's teenage years, she's adulthood. she's past, she's present and above all she's future. domestic hideouts and rushed whispers.
