Sometimes I hold
my right arm
With my left hand
Holding myself together as I sleep
It’s a delicate ritual—
A single loosening of the grip
And I am grounded once more.
The law of the universe decrees.
That things fall apart
Far more easily
Than they are mended.
After all, it takes years
To weave a single thread
With a single person,
And only a second
To release it
Into the vastness of indifference.
Superstitions aren’t rules—they’re stories we inherit.
College and alcohol go hand-in-hand — talk early.
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