sometimes i think i've forgotten how to communicate.
or maybe i've never learned how to really do it before.
this realization feels like remembering how
to breathe without thought after so many
scheduled
labored
breaths.
Inhale.
Exhale.
First 'hello'.. Inhale.
Letting go.. Exhale.
[and how do you know anything
when everything you know isn't real?]
You're the ink & the pen
we're the words.
i'm the indents on the next page
left from your impression of us..
a ghost of the story
[a ghost of a girl]
wanting to form, but without
the necessary utensils..
i am an imitation of myself.
