"I loved you head over handles
like my first bicycle accident—
before the mouthful of gravel and blood,
I swore we were flying."
"I start my mornings convincing myself to open the windows, and let the new air replace the old. To let myself fold the sheets and leave behind all the doubts from yesterday under a well made bed. A freshly brewed cup of coffee filling the spaces in between scents of who I am behind closed doors. This is what I leave behind. This is what I go home to."
Keen Malasarte, My mother tells me to make my bed in order to be made as a person, and I think she’s doing me a favor.