When Love Eventually Sticks Around

A familiar hand rubbing the small of my back. Love is gentle like that. Doesn’t jolt me out of bed. Lets me slowly wake up instead.

Fuck Your Rigid Idea Of Happiness

Happiness is fleeting. It comes and goes. It makes out with us behind the bar and then suddenly ghosts. It gives us the weekend or week or month of a lifetime, and then has to go back home.