6.21.18 | I was naive enough to be happy

I thought about writing you an e-mail,
because letters make my hands cramp and I
don't want to ask him for any more stamps and envelopes.
I thought about telling you how
I was naive enough to think we were out of the woods,
but now I've quickly realized we are not.
we're in a sparse section of the forest,
able to see a field of flowers with sunshine
streaming down.
happiness, bliss, safety.
the darkness of the woods
mocks us as we
slam into the invisible
forcefield blocking us from the happiness
we so desperately hope for.
the happiness we so desperately
deserve.

then I thought about telling you it's like we're

deer; just a family of deer in this big forest

we call home,

and now we need to cross the road.

but the cars keep coming,

no evidence of slowing down,

no way for us to dodge them.

if cats have nine lives, 

how many do we have?

how many times does it take before 

we escape this?

I just want to cross the road

without fearing for our lives.

please, don't let us get hit this time.

I think about writing you an e-mail, or maybe just

saying "fuck it" and writing you a letter,

or maybe even "fuck everything" and sending you a text.

but I never do.

I decide I'm not ready yet

and then again, I'm never 

ready for anything,

especially

this.