Littlewolf91

it's midnight and I'm writing love letters on my skin to the woman who raised me. it's midnight and every limb has a story. all my collarbone remembers is the frantic hurry of your footsteps when it broke under the weight of gravity and mistaken desire to fly and my broken pink umbrella, long-gone, remembers too. my elbows remember the firm pull of your hands in the grocery store. my cheeks remember your makeup and my clumsy fingers dipping in like paint pots and my neck remembers all your strands of pearls. I remember when you were young again and wearing red and holding cups of tea in hands that didn't shake yet and I remembe