kindness is staggering

I finally raised my mind up, but my fingers destroyed the words:

1. the girl on far.
2. the love for my mother.
3. the world on near.

I remember this—the rest was maybe just chemicals, of the moments we are alone.

So I will forget, and strive in that.

Yesterday was my birthday. and I think of the year, and all of the infant colours borne from its tumult, and the day, bathed in.

Kindness is staggered, and staggering.

When we come together, we are menders, all rush of water and arch of stars—I will never not know this, believe this, keep this.

I wish I could recover the tongues I had put forth—greater than this, tired, lapse, (he thought of strings).

Please love them. Please keep them.