I wish I would
and write more–with intent, anyways
and stretch more
and breath more
and climb again
and paint again.
I wish I could lose myself in the things
I wish I could stay soft
and not turn callous or cold.
I wish happiness wasn’t a fleeting feeling.
You think it’s cool to hate things. And it’s not. It’s boring. Talk about what you love and keep quiet about what you don’t.