Hearts don't break, y'all. They bruise and get better.
If I didn't have so much of this life all wrong I would have gotten it right by now.
Stop inviting walls into wide open spaces.
You're a free-standing landing pad held together by choir claps.
You can call me an angry ghost when I'm gone, or laugh into my disposition. But my mom will still see me as her wide-eyed wanderer out behind the garage inventing ways to fend off dog attacks that will probably never happen.
Everything is out there. That's why they call it everything.