You take trips in your mind.
You get crushes on cities the way others do on people.
You've saved that card for years, hoping for someone to give it to.
You will never say those particular words to another living soul.
You write all over your walls. And body.
Your hands still remember. And they refuse to forget.
You're trying to walk a fine line.
You do it to comfort yourself.
You long to do something more constructive with tears.
You're looking for a way out.
You don't actually need to know.
You look up to her.
You're closer than you've ever been.
My nose isn't that big. (It looks nothing like me.)