Like laundry taken off the line
And left unattended for days
So are these feelings of mine
Needing to find their place.
For order and peace to be restored
And mental strength to endure
They must needs be carefully handled
Not tossed and thrown about at random
For used again they will be
Over and over
Expanding and contracting spaces: Space as identity.
I sniffed his hair not once not twice
Not even three times did I perform this act
I did it several times along the course of the train ride even though I will his head not to fall upon my shoulders
It finally touched it as we neared our destination
But not quite fully as he maintained some semblance of consciousness
Though his head didn’t quite rest on my shoulders
It certainly rested upon my senses.
For a place to vent that won’t judge nor criticise. For a space to listen without closing its ear. Writing is my platform, music my escape.