Day 281: Prose: I like writing about holding hands.
If we held hands with brass knuckles, it wouldn’t make it any less romantic.
Just us.
In our raggedy tshirts
And calloused feet
Trespassing over lines we didn’t think possible.
Waited years to find them,
And dove At the chance.
We are young.
Meeting somewhere in the middle of broken hearted
And hearts on our forearms
So much so,
That we are rocking in rhythm.
Shut up. I haven’t written in a while.
words and images 365.
