So many words are minced,
swallowed before being tasted,
and feelings are broken before being felt,
and nothing tastes like summer
even though there are 40 degrees outside,
no wind in sight,
no love in mind,
and can we pretend we’re independent now?
So many things are lost in between
breaths that mean nothing,
so many weird dreams are broken before we even close our eyes,
and so many sunrises start before midnight,
only to die down at 2 am
when nothing good ever happens,
but cold hands,
and the awkwardest of hugs.