high-sky wishes

i think that maybe if i hold my breath i could forget the day at the end of january when i ripped one of my favourite shirts. i was dizzy and floaty and loving it, but in my cold dark haze i miscalculated and brushed past the whiteboard too close, hooking my shirt on the pen tray. when i pulled away, there were two minute holes marring the olive fabric.

i think that maybe if i hold my breath i could forget the day in mid-march where my castle finally collapsed. it was too much, all too much at once. (and i was wearing the barely ripped green shirt again) eventually i got too cold to feel the fallout of my emotion, curling sharp into my previously marked skin and tracing clear streaks down my face.

i think that maybe if i hold my breath i could forget the day where i (yet again) lied my way out of a bad situation, sprinting away. my best friend apologised, and promised me a better future. we planned that night on the car ride home, and when she accidentally hit me in the face with her errant hand we broke into teary laughter. a night later, i stayed up an hour to hear a materialised plan that i could only wish of.