"Communis," Latin for common, the derivative of community, lost in a space of mundane, as vague as the feathered hats in the front row of my mamas church. Upon closer inspection -- potential grandeur.

        I'm

                                at

a

                 loss

            for

                       words

                                      like a blank canvas.

                   An atlas from when the earth was 

                                   flat.

A person in power once told me that the life I called mundane was anything but.

I couldn't help but feel that it was because they had a pool while we had a sprinkler.

The grass is always brilliant shades of brown on the other side.

It's impressive how my parents pulled it off while mothers were still making pitchers of ice cold lemonade.

You know we wayyyyyy turnt on this side.

I'm wearing my dad's shirt and I think it's interesting we fall into troubled waters.

I hate the color red.

It pops up with no warning as if we should have learned from the stop lights.

Think about how many accidents have been avoided from a pause.

I send my best thoughts in a panic.

My heart writes with its eyes closed as I push out empty sonnets.

I'd like to think I'm rather pragmatic but I've rarely stopped to listen.

I often think about the star projector from that Drake song.

About how when Lebron retires there will be debates about where the greats have gone.

I sometimes look at the world and wonder where all the grace has gone.

I'm nostalgic of a world defined by Saturday morning cartoons and being kissed goodnight.

A thousand Oaks.

My body's burned.

Magnolia like the complex and the flower.

Water soak my feet.

I swear my socks are on the shore that swims below sea level.

Home is where the heart stops beating.

The circadian rhythm ends.

I've seen these nights for too long.

I wonder if fear trumps anguish or vice versa.

My grandpa taught me more than just his chromosomes.

 

 

XYXY.

If I could give you a ring it would be a Cartier. I think you've always talked about liking the oval cut. I'm not a big fan of ceremonies, they honestly scare me to death. There's something odd about sharing an intimate moment with others. I scribble notes and put them on the mirror for you. Hopefully when I pass they find their voice.

DUALITIES EXIST AND AT TIMES I MISS THE PARALLELS.

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