The light floods across your skin like it owns you.
Taking over your dark spaces like I never could.
Somewhere lurked a pattern that I didn’t find until it was too late..
The storm came in, thrashing all of our windows,
wetting our curtains
and extending its hands around our throats..
“You’re not exactly a great welcoming party,” it yelled.
Your hair fell out of place and struck your cheek.
You cracked a smile and I stared, wondering if I could love you.
If I should love you.
We’re always chasing something that we have no right to own.
Writer and photographer from remote Labrador, Canada. Just another cold Labradorian chillin' in the Big Land. Can most likely be found walking my dog Grace or behind an iMac screen slowly taking over the interwebs.