Mikailah Autumn

i feel like people outgrow mefaster than they realize they needme to begin with; a condolence,a temporary remedy to the lonelinessthey're drowning in until they learnto swim and i become an inconvenientextension to their tangled existence -as if their minds are too impatient tounderstand that, hidden deep insidethe buried soul of the one next to themis a heart just waiting for someone tohang on; to hang around; to stay.there are a pair of jeans in my drawer,buried beneath layers of black cotton shirtsand satchels of wildflowerswith holes in the thighs and missing belt loopsthat i can't seem to get rid of -for they remind me of you; ofsunflower days and raindrops on lips,strawberry fingers and windswept kissesand grass-stains on our elbows andlaughter in the air, fresh and clean andinnocent like the earth after rain.there are stories that we have molded tofit our wounds, bandages we imagine arecovering the shrapnelleft by ones who never learned that "loving"is not irrefutably tied to "leaving";we wrap ourselves in flowers and harnessthe clouds to disguise the fact that we'remade for a soul just as broken as we are.we lose ourselves in our brokenness,lamenting the ones we've lost untilwe realize that people outgrow people -but

i used to think i knew you like your hands knew the curves of my face, and the warmth of your arms in the firelight, dew settling on our shoulders like memories in the shadows, in the heat from the flames. of your eyes, the brooding twist of your lips when you were lost in thought, the laughter in your on me, and i can't help but think that maybe, somehow, we lost ourselves in those flames, lit one too many matches and burned our very souls to ash. i saw you through the eyes of the but you only saw or end table or love seat to polish up and boast about i still feel you as i did on those heavy, nights when the earth wrapped its arms around our shoulders and the darkness with the milky way the galaxies above us and there was too much distance between our beings to survive the fall to earth; so we continue hiding our bruises and walking the fine line of acceptance until, one day, maybe we'll understand that while the moon and the stars play at romance and exist in the same firmament, they were never meant for each other - and no matter how brightly they might and all that remains are the ashes of what once was.

in early October, i drove across the country for the first time (even after making the drive with my mum & dad 20+ times, i'd never driven once! ), left behind home and family and everything i'd known for the past 18 years of my life and started a new adventure in Ohio. leaving my family is one of the hardest things i've ever experienced, and let me just tell you: nothing prepares you for that goodbye. upon my arrival, i dealt with car troubles, made phone calls (eeee), got (somewhat) used to living independently, cultivated a passionate love for Aldi, flew by myself for the first time (including a 40 minute layover in Detroit to catch my next flight - which i almost missed) and realized that "visiting home" is about the most melancholy, bittersweet feeling a person can experience. i cling to sameness; to constancy and comfort and security with a ferocity born of anxiety and fear, but this year has proven, despite my uncertainty, that change is more than a part of life - it is life - and, if given the chance, it can be a good thing. here's to (the remainder of) 2018 - the crazy, the hard, the lonely, the wild, the joyful, the new - and all that entails. 🎉 p.s. here, have a conglomeration of miscellaneous photos from 2017 thrown together in an unorganized heap.

you first saw me through a glass window and you fell in love at the first sight, or so you would later say. the trees were bare and desolate, their arms against the sky, and our reflections chased after us as we went walking by. we talked about the future - laid out for all the world to see if they would only dare to look. you swore that you would write to me but your promises faded, as did you, with the sound of breaking glass.