Midnight Thoughts
I'm not sure who I am these days except a bundle of questions and dreams. I'm closer to thirty than twenty, which in many eyes is still young, and yet I feel like I've lived lifetime after lifetime, and still, not lived quite enough. I'm tired. The kind of tired that sits so heavy in your bones it keeps you from falling asleep. Does everyone feel this way? Sticky with sweetness? Sick with hope? Muddied, unfinished, closer than ever before to death?
Comments (3)
Solid into liquid ice melts. Love the sound that ice makes in the glass. Good job.
Gotta agree with Harper. Ice is such a scary word now. Loved your poem!
Like everyone else in the US, I now bristle when I see the word “ice.” I am so thankful that this is the kind I like, in the place I like it—a glass.💖