Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop
kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it’s sent away.
I have seen the best of you, and the worst of you, and I choose both.
Life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.
You can only fit so many words in a postcard, only so many in a phone call, only so many into space before you forget that words are sometimes used for things other than filling emptiness.
Still now I send letters into space
Hoping that some mailman somewhere will track you down
And recognise you from the descriptions in my poems
That he will place the stack of them in your hands and tell you,
There is a girl who still writes you, she doesn't know how not to
You are a woman. Skin and bones, veins and nerves, hair and sweat. You are not made of metaphors. Not apologies, not excuses.
Forgive yourself for the decisions you have made, the ones you still call mistakes when you tuck them in at night.