this is the sound of settling

I've got a hunger twisting my stomach into knots that my tongue was tied off. My brain's repeating "If you've got an impulse let it out." But they never make it past my mouth. Our youth is fleeting. Old age is just around the bend, and I can't wait to go grey. And I'll sit and wonder of every love that could've been if I'd only thought of something charming to say.

I've got a hunger twisting my stomach into knots...

happy birthday self



[a year ago today: strawberry fields forever.]